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rainnycloudstorm · 1 month ago

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all i want is you

(repost)

pairing(s): adrian chase | vigilante x fem!reader

summary: The raw amber goo that the butterflies eat looks really good, doesn't it? Vigilante sure thinks so.

cw: explicit, smut, dubcon elements, sex pollen, the aliens made them do it, goff the voyeur, exhibitionism, voyeurism, manipulated by a bug, vigilante eats everything he sees, reader would jump off a bridge if everyone else did, dirty talk, couch sex, rough sex, and then gentle sex, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, glove kink, mild praise kink, pain kink, biting, scratching, masochist adrian, soft!dom adrian, adrian busting it way too quickly, face reveal, marvel references because, canon divergence- I have no idea what timeline this is

a/n: goff watched all that. f in the chat

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

A warm breeze sighs through the trees as you stare up at Peacemaker’s, uh, house? It’s a mobile home, at least, but it’s painted in such a gaudy stars and stripes way that it makes your toes curl just looking at it. Stepping up to the place, you have to weave around multiple little garden ornaments that are weather-beaten and moss covered to various degrees.

You couldn’t get ahold of Peacemaker, but you still have to retrieve the dossier on Senator Goff from him before he can get into any more trouble with it. Knowing him, the guy probably smoked a joint and is laying passed out on his bed right now. You don’t really care, as long as you can get back to Project Butterfly HQ without a fuss.

You rap on the door twice, turning to look over your shoulder at the kids across the cul-de-sac riding their bikes. You don’t hear anything behind the door, and it occurs to you that maybe he isn’t home, and you briefly chide yourself for not checking the tracking in his head to find out where he actually is. But then, a second later, you hear a shuffling and then the bright red door pops open to reveal… not Peacemaker.

“Vigilante?”

You squint up at the red visor on the masked man in front of you, just barely able to pick out two eyes staring back at you. Admittedly, you only know Vigilante superficially at best; you couldn’t tell anyone his name, and even less what he looks like under the mask (just that he has a nice ass). You’ve barely even had a full conversation with him thus far, even though you’ve often caught yourself checking him out from across the room. He strikes you as a little too unhinged to be approachable, and he tends to linger around Peacemaker more than anyone else.

“Yeah, that’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” His voice is way too bubbly and chipper for that sarcastic of a statement, but you don’t think he really absorbs how snotty the line is supposed to be. His head dips as he pointedly looks you up and down, and then his head snaps up in the direction of the kids across the way. “Oh, fuck- come in, quick.”

“I take it you’re not really supposed to be here. Where’s Chris?” you grumble as you step into the messy house. It’s apparent that someone has been trying to clean it, but whoever it is hasn’t gotten very far.

Almost as if he reads your mind, Vigilante picks up a trash bag and sweeps his arm along a line of empty potato chip bags and water bottles on the kitchen counter, knocking them all into the bag. “Well, uh. ‘Supposed to’ is kind of a choice of words. Peacemaker had to go do some shit at his dad’s house, but didn't say when he’d be back. It seemed like a while, though, he told me to stick around and watch Eagly and Goff.”

You stop dead, staring at his broad-shouldered form over the kitchen counter. “Goff?”

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, and then sort of turns on his heels to shoot a look over his shoulder at you. “Uh… Goff? What Goff? I don’t know a Goff-” You fix him with a dead eyed stare that makes him falter, his hands fisting in the plastic bag in his hands. You could swear he looks almost meek when he blurts, “We sort of kept Goff sorry.”

“Motherfucker, I will bury you- what do you mean, ‘you guys kept Goff?’”

“W-well,” he tilts his head back toward the ceiling, his posture so rail-straight that you know he’s completely tense. “I didn’t, it was Peacemaker. I just kinda helped him wrestle it into the jar-”

“Jar? What the fuck is going on, man?”

You can see him blink at you in stunned silence from under the visor. Then he sighs and, tossing the trash bag onto the floor, reaches under the kitchen counter and pulls out a pickle jar with a perforated lid.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, inching closer to squint at the thing in the jar. It looks like a cross between a moth and a mosquito, overly large for a normal insect and bright turquoise. It blinks at you with glassy black eyes. “That’s Goff?”

“Well, it’s… it’s the thing that came out of the dude’s head when Peacemaker blew his brains out.” Vigilante shrugs, tilting his head as he stares down at the jar. “I dunno, I think it’s kinda cute in a weird praying mantis type of way. Y’know, I used to keep mantises as a kid, whenever I found them. I thought they were cool as hell. Did you know they’ll eat anything smaller than them? And the females sometimes eat the males after sex. I mean, talk about a way to go, right?”

You glance up at him during his impromptu National Geographic lecture. “Aren’t praying mantises protected? I don’t think you’re supposed to keep them.”

“Hey, Peacemaker has a bald eagle. I don’t see you raising an issue about that.”

You shrug as you draw back from the jar. “I dunno, I feel like you’ve killed people for less.”

“I have, but Eagly loves Peacemaker. Who am I to fuck with the natural order of things? The little guy would be heartbroken.”

“No, I meant- ah, forget it.” You blow a harsh breath out as you straighten your spine. “Have you seen the file Chris has on Goff? I’m only here for that.”

“Bedroom, maybe.” As you trod past him toward the back of the house, he goes back to clearing piles of trash off the counters. A small smile quirks your lips; Vigilante is playing housekeeper while watching Peacemaker’s menagerie. The concept is… well, not really surprising, but just odd. You wouldn’t have imagined it happening, except that now that you see it taking place it makes sense.

“Where’s Eagly?” you call as you walk the length of the hallway and still don’t find the bird anywhere in sight.

“Went for a fly, I dunno. The skylight’s open, so he’ll be back. Hopefully.”

The bedroom isn’t much better than the kitchen, with piles of clothes and empty bottles of every description covering the floor. Thankfully, and as the rest of the team had feared, Peacemaker isn’t very concerned with hiding sensitive documents. The classified file on Senator Goff has been tossed freely onto the bedside table, some of the contents poking out of the corner of it. You sigh and scoop it up, leafing through it briefly to ensure that everything is there before making your way back to the kitchen.

As soon as he hears you coming, Vigilante is right back to talking. “Hey, have you ever seen anything like this? It’s fucking… what’s the word… effervescent?”

You turn your head to find Vigilante dipping two gloved fingers into a mason jar filled with the amber goo that had been found at the Goff residence. The food that the butterflies presumably live off of glistens on his fingertips, vaguely sparkling in the light. You freeze in place as he curiously rubs his fingers together, pulling them apart to have the viscous liquid cling together and create a web across them. In the silence, it makes a soft, wet sound against the textured pads of his gloves.

“Iridescent,” you correct, watching. There’s absolutely no reason why that should look as suggestive as it does, but you find yourself swallowing past an inexplicable dryness in your throat all the same. “Why are you playing with it?”

“I’m not… I mean, I’m just curious.” He shakes his hand roughly, but the goo remains stuck to it. “Y’know, there’s a fine line between scientific research and just dicking around, and the line is writing shit down. Go grab a pen.”

“You are not a scientist,” you object, but you hand him a pen from the cabinet behind you, anyways.

“Don’t be presumptuous, you don’t know shit about me. I could be a biochemist for all you know…” Instead of writing anything down with the pen, he dips the end of it into the jar and swirls it around before pulling it out, covered with the amber fluid and pulling a long string of it out of the jar. “I gotta be honest, it looks like honey. I want to eat it.”

“That is so inadvisable, I don’t even know where to begin.” You shake your head. “If you were a biochemist I promise you would not be talking about eating the suspicious alien substance you stole after killing said aliens.”

“But you gotta admit, it looks fucking delicious,” he continues, gathering all the goo from the pen onto his fingers again. You tear your eyes away just before he starts playing with it again, and stare down at your shoes as he says, “We should totally try it together.”

“We should not.”

“Hey, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“UM, let me think. Hives. Anaphylaxis. Sepsis. Organ failure. Probable death.”

“Damn, you really know how to turn a guy on, huh?” Vigilante gives a crazed little giggle that makes your heart do a flip in your chest. “Anyways, I know you’re probably thinking about it, too.”

“Why’s that?” you ask challengingly.

“Because you haven’t left yet.” He shrugs, and even though you can’t see behind his mask, you can almost guarantee he’s smiling at you. “Unless you’re staying for me, in which case I’d be like, sweet! We should totally go out for drinks. But like, I can’t take off the mask, so… that might not work out so well-”

“Maybe I’m sticking around because you’re talking about eating that, and I won’t be held accountable if I knowingly leave you and you die. If I have to rush you to the hospital, I will.”

“Aw, that’s so nice. I think there’s a romcom that starts that way. Or maybe it was a horror movie? I don’t remember.” He pauses for a moment like he’s thinking. “Oh, hey! I know! We can ask Goff if it’s safe.”

“Goff can’t speak.”

“You have like zero imagination, you know that? Watch this.” Vigilante leans down to look directly into the jar. “Hey, Goff. One tap is yes, two is no. If we eat the honey stuff you eat, will it kill us?”

“This is so stupi-”

Tap tap.

Your face falls, and you blink down at the alien in the jar. “Did it just…?”

“Hey Goff, if we eat it will it make us sick?”

Tap tap.

“Works for me,” Vigilante says in that same chipper manner, and moves to scoop a glob of the stuff into his fingers.

“Hey, wait,” you snap, reaching forward to catch his wrist. “How do you know that thing is even trustworthy?”

“I dunno. He has honest eyes.”

“What, the creepily sentient insectoid ones? Yeah. Super trustworthy.” You roll your eyes. “Plus, didn’t it try to kill you before?”

Vigilante stares at you- or, you think he does. With the mask blocking out all his facial features, talking to him is kind of like trying to uphold a conversation with a mannequin at the GAP.

“You’re sounding kinda prejudiced towards aliens right now.”

“Dude!”

“What? He can’t help it if his eyes are insectoid. He’s a butterfly.” He shrugs again, and this time he tilts his head to the side, reminiscent of a confused puppy. “Besides, what would be the advantage of killing us? He’s literally trapped in a jar and we’re the only ones who can get him out. Also, I’ve never been able to stay away from sparkly gold things. Like, I remember I had this one shiny gold book about Egypt as a kid-”

“The Egyptology book?”

“Yeah, that one! You had it?”

“Yeah, I had it. It was fucking awesome.” You stare down at his hand, his two fingers extended toward you, covered in sticky gold syrup. “Fucking… fine. I don’t like it, but I won’t stop you if you insist on shoving random things in your mouth.”

“It’s not a random thing, Goff said it’s fine.” He says it with such conviction, but he still hesitates when you let go of his wrist. There’s a pause, and then, “You sure you don’t want to lick it off my fingers?”

Your face heats up, and you clench your jaw as you look away. Is it bad that you’re almost tempted to? “Nice try. You’re on your own, buddy.”

Vigilante sighs and leans back, looking down at his fingers. “So… how am I gonna…? Can you, like, turn around or something?”

“Why do I need to turn around?”

“This mask doesn’t have a mouth hole, dude.”

“It’s elastic, right? Just pull it up a little bit, don’t be shy. It’s like a strip tease.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “That’s… the weirdest way you could have put that. Are you trying to Spider-Man kiss me right now?”

You squint at him. “Am I what?”

“You know. In the Spider-Man movie with Tobey Mc-whatshisface and Kirsten Dunst, when she pulls down his mask so she can kiss him upside down?”

“I’m not trying to Spider-Man kiss you, man. Now just do it if you’re gonna do it so I can figure out whether or not I need to call an EMT.”

“Okay! Geez!” He hooks his thumb under the bottom edge of his mask, yanking it sharply outwards to tent the fabric around his jaw. You only catch a glimpse of his throat before he shoves his fingers under the fabric and, presumably, into his mouth.

He makes a startled noise in the back of his throat, and it sends you into immediate panic mode.

“Oh, fuck, is it okay?” He mutely shakes his head. “Is it bad? Gasoline? Motor oil? Sewage? Can you fucking breathe? Dude, talk to me!”

He pulls his fingers slowly out from under the mask, and they still glisten with a certain amount of the syrup on them. “No, it’s… it’s way better than okay, it’s like… like milk and honey? With apricots? It’s like the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life-”

You snatch his hand and lift it to your mouth so that you can wrap your lips around his fingers. He stills, his mask snapping back into place over his jaw as he lowers his hand to brace himself on the counter. You can feel his eyes trained on you, but you’re not really paying attention to him anymore.

You’re focusing on the absolute burst of flavor on your tongue. You know what he means by never having tasted anything like it. It’s composed of the most incongruent, fantastic flavors melded together, but somehow they work; chocolate and orange, kiwi, strawberry. You do taste the creamy bit of milk and honey on the back of your tongue, but it’s like each flavor changes from taste bud to taste bud. Like, somehow, your brain doesn’t know exactly how to process what it’s tasting.

You succeed in cleaning off his gloves, until the Willy Wonka bullshit dissolves into the flavor of leather and gunmetal. And Vigilante lets you- granted, he’s standing rigid and staring at you, probably like you’re just as insane as he is, but he doesn’t try to pull his hand away from you. You might imagine it, but you think his forefinger twitches against your tongue like he means to shove them further into your mouth, but he doesn’t.

He lets you pull his fingers from your mouth, and his grip on your hand lingers for half a second. Quietly, he begins, “Do you want to…?”

“Get a spoon?”

“Yeah, that’s… that’s what I was gonna say.”

“What’s your biggest fear?”

Vigilante passes you the jar as he snaps the edge of his mask back against his neck. “This is the strangest conversation I’ve ever had on a first date.”

You feel like your blood is boiling beneath your skin, but you’re trying your best not to show it. Your eyes track every little glimpse of his skin you can get like you’re ravenous for it- every time he pulls the mask away from his jaw to stick the spoon under it, your eyes are on his throat. You swear you caught sight of his jaw at one point, and you nearly fell out of your seat over it.

You run a shaking hand over the back of your neck, finding it a little bit damp with perspiration. You’re not hot, you’re just way too worked up. It doesn’t help that you’ve always had a thing for guys in gloves and masks. God, you sound like you’re begging to be mugged.

If you were being mugged, Vigilante could save you. And then fuck you up against the wa-

“This is not a date, man, I’m just trying to talk about something other than Meet the Robinsons with you.”

“It’s a cinematic masterpiece!”

“So you keep saying.” You sink back against the arm of the couch, propping your feet into Vigilante’s lap as he turns to face you. “How many dates have you been on if this is the weirdest it’s gotten?”

“I’ve been on, like, two actual legitimate dates,” he sighs with his face pointed towards the ceiling. “And they didn’t really end well. One girl didn’t have any idea where she wanted to go so I took her to an ice cream shop, and she failed to mention she was lactose intolerant so she puked on my shoes. And then the other person I was really into, but they took me to a rave and then disappeared in the crowd and ghosted me. So that’s why I don’t date.”

“Cool. So, what’s your biggest fear?”

“Man, you’re really not gonna let this go, are you? I was just being honest with my feelings, a little sympathy would be super nice.”

“Sorry. Poor baby, I would never eat ice cream and then puke on your shoes. I’m built different.” You give him a noncommittal hum as you pop a spoonful of the alien honey into your mouth. You stifle an obnoxious moan that threatens to bubble up out of your throat, despite the fact that you’ve been passing the jar back and forth with him for nearly thirty minutes now. Every time it hits your tongue it’s entirely different, gliding sweet and almost hot down your throat like whisky. “Now tell me your fear and I’ll tell you mine.”

He bends his knee, sort of spreading his legs to accommodate yours as he leans back against the armrest across from you. You notice that he tends to lounge like a king from a medieval painting, and it’s absurd how everything between your legs draws up tight and aching at the sight of it. “Uhhhhh… radiation poisoning.”

“Are you fucking serious? That’s it?”

“What? Do you know how many times I’ve had literal nightmares about all that shit that happened in Central City with S.T.A.R. Labs? It’s scary.” He shifts, and his leg bounces up against yours, knocking your legs apart in the process. It takes everything in you not to snap your legs shut as he continues, “Anyways, I can’t imagine a big fucking explosion rocking the city and then suddenly waking up with, like, X-Ray vision. Having to see everyone’s boners and skeletons and shit? No way… well, actually, I don’t think I’d mind the boners as much. But I don’t like skeletons. And then if it doesn’t give you mad superpowers, it just melts your skin off. Sounds bonkers.”

A smile curls your lips. “What if the radiation gave you super sex magnet powers? Would you still be scared of it then?”

He shakes his head. “Why… why would it make give me super sex magnet powers? What basis does that have? You think I fuck like a maniac or something?” A pause. “I mean… not. Not saying that I don’t fuck like a maniac, I mean, I get tons of, uhhh. Pussy. And dick. But like, would that even affect my superpower? Theoretically?”

Your face grows hot at his rambling, and you bluster for a moment looking for a reply. “I don’t know, maybe? Why would it give you X-Ray vision?”

“Because I have… because the visor…” he gives you a perturbed sigh. “Doesn’t matter. You promised you’d tell me your fear.”

“Mm. Rejection.” The metal spoon clinks against the glass rim of the jar as you hand it back to him.

“Who the fuck would reject you?” He even has the decency to sound genuinely confused, bless him.

You scoff. “Plenty of people, believe it or not. Turns out that if it happens enough, you can develop a fear of it.”

“That makes no sense,” he begins, and you open your mouth to start waxing on about the psychology of traumatic reactions, but he cuts you off before you can get a word in. “You’re gorgeous, like I swear I can’t stop staring at you no matter what I do. And you’re smart, and funny, and you stopped what you were doing to make sure I wasn’t going to die if I ate this stuff, even though you don’t even really know me, which is probably more than even Peacemaker would do and he’s my best friend.” His voice drops in volume as he concludes, “You’re just… good. You’re so good. And I like that about you.”

“You’re good too, you know.” Your eyelashes flutter as you take him in, staring down at the jar as he swirls the spoon around, seemingly lost in thought. “And I can’t stop staring at you, either.”

The leg that he has braced with his foot flat on the floor bounces twice, and then stops when he realizes he’s bouncing your leg as well. Then it bounces again, and then stops. Christ, is he having a panic attack?

Are you, would be the better question. Your heart might just jump out of your chest and into his lap for how hard it’s beating against your ribcage. Your hands are starting to shake, and you clamp a hand against the back of the couch to try to steady it. It also acts as leverage for you to press yourself back into your seat, because the need stirring around in your core like a cement mixer has you wanting to crawl forward and grind on his lap.

Which, you know, might be a bad idea, considering.

You need to calm down. Think of something other than him, and how good it would feel to have him bouncing his leg between your thighs.

No, fuck. Concentrate. Cool off.

A wave of heat rushes down your arms and up the back of your neck, and you jump to start unzipping your jacket.

“Huuhhh oh my god? Wh- what are you…?” Vigilante rears back against the armrest like he’s rankled just by the sight of your arms.

“It’s just fucking blazing in here. Aren’t you hot?” You say to save face as you tug your jacket out from behind you and toss it to the ground.

“Oh… oh, yeah.” He thrusts the jar at you without having really touched it, and moves to shirk off the straps of his machete holster, and then the chest plate of his armor. It’s nearly half-performance, half-genuine struggle as he removes an obscene amount of weapons from compartments you hadn’t even noticed before, one shoulder pad and then two, and then, finally, he unlatches the thing across his chest.

You realize then how fucking easy he has it, keeping his face hidden from view. You’re staring, and it’s so painfully obvious that you are when your mouth drops open just a bit as his black undershirt is revealed, skin-tight and nearly pasted to his body with sweat.

You actually draw your legs back, knees toward your chest as he tosses the chest plate down on top of your jacket, and then starts undoing his arm plates. He fumbles with buckles and hooks, looking quite consumed by the act in itself.

“You need help?” You ask, your voice coming out smaller than you’d like it to.

“Nah, I got it. I do this all the time.” One plate hits the floor, and then two. And then the motherfucker rolls his sleeves up, and you can feel your cunt pulse between your thighs as your eyes trace up the line of his forearms.

Holy fuck.

You sit completely still across from each other, surrounded by a tension so palpable that you could cut a knife with it. You shift your hips once on accident, and then a second time on purpose, grinding hard down into the couch cushion and trying to stave off the aching need boiling in your gut and running hot through your veins at the sight of him.

Then, Vigilante reaches behind him and pulls a purple velvet pillow out of the corner by his hip, and places it directly over his crotch in the most non-subtle way he possibly can. You don’t think he’s looking at you, his head is tilted a little too far down, but he kind of clutches the pillow like a teddy bear against his navel as he resumes bouncing his leg.

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Huh?” He snaps his head up towards you, and then sucks in a sharp hiss through his teeth like it’s causing him physical pain to look at you. “Yeah… no, yeah I’m totally. Totally fine. One hundred percent. Nothing going on, nope.”

Tap tap.

“Goff! Shut the fuck up!”

A short little chuckle falls from your lips as you turn to look at the jar on the kitchen counter. The butterfly wiggles back on its haunches, watching the two of you like it’s getting ready for a show about to commence.

You blink twice, and then slowly turn your head to Vigilante, who is somehow clutching the pillow tighter against him with his gloved hands, and feel a twinge of white hot need surge up your spine and along the curve of your shoulders. And you look down at the jar of amber goo, glistening so tantalizingly against the glass and on the spoon as you raise it. And you look back at the creepy little alien that’s watching it all happen.

The smile disintegrates from your face as quickly as it formed. “Goff… you said this stuff wouldn’t make us sick. Does it still have side effects?”

Tap.

“Goff, you son of a bitch.” So, that’s what this is. It’s not just your inexplicable desire for him. It’s the raw amber fluid that’s making your mouth flood with saliva each time you glimpse his bare skin. God, you’re so fucking turned on by him already that it’s not even funny, and seeing his arms flex as he shifts his hips and tries to hide the fact that he’s being affected the same way isn’t helping you to calm down.

“I think-” he pants behind his mask, audibly out of breath as he sinks further back against the arm rest, “I think Goff is a f-fucking… pervert. Shouldn’t have trusted him. You were right.”

His head tilts back against the armrest, chest heaving as he softly whimpers up toward the ceiling. A thin strip of his throat is revealed in this position, drawing your eye as his hips threaten to lurch forward, and he shoves the pillow even harder against his crotch. He’s nearly fucking up into it at this point, and a jittery sound just this side of a laugh comes barreling out of your throat before you can stop it.

“Hey, no, it’s… you’re fine,” you breathe, spellbound as you watch him struggle to keep still. Maybe you could use a pillow of your own to grind on. It would probably help to keep the fucking heartbeat that’s kicked up between your legs at bay. You swallow back the rush of saliva in your mouth and continue, “It’s fine, I’m… I’m in the same boat as you. We’ll get through it together.”

“Together?” Vigilante’s voice cracks, and his head lifts just enough that you know he’s looking at you. God, what you wouldn’t give to be able to see his face right now, and read all the need in his voice written on his expression. The mask just barely moves with the flexing of his jaw, and his hands shake as they dig a death grip into the pillow between his legs.

“Yeah, I’m- I mean- fuck!” The glass slips in your sweaty palms. As you struggle to keep a grip on the jar in your hands, the spoon catches on the front of your tank top and slips out of the glass, smacking fully against the fabric over your cleavage and leaving a glob of fluid to slide gooey and thick in a line down your front. It drips, seeping into the fabric and leaving a wet trail against your skin.

You jump into immediate action, throwing your legs over the edge of the couch and placing the jar on the coffee table. Vigilante tosses his pillow aside just as you stand, straightening your top so that you don’t smear the mess any more than necessary across your front.

It was a good time for an intermission, anyways. Maybe if you get enough air being across the room from him, you can calm yourself down enough to not throw yourself at him the first chance you get. Maybe he can stretch out and get a little bit of rest, instead of nearly back-bending over the arm of the couch like he wants to get away from you.

You mutter a string of curses incoherently under your breath, and then, “God, fucking… of course. Do you want some water, while I’m up?”

Vigilante doesn’t answer. For how chatty he is, he’s particularly good at surprise attacks, like he’s secretly a goddamn ambush predator. He doesn’t even make a noise when he moves, silent as a fucking spider, so you almost yelp when you feel his hands on your hips. His fingertips dig into your skin for half a second, and then he pulls, bringing you down between his spread legs.

You stare directly forward at the window on the wall across from you, swallowing thickly. Here, with your back against his chest and his head so close to yours that they nearly touch, you can hear his labored breathing and how it nearly rattles in his lungs with his effort to keep it steady. You can feel the hard length of his cock against your tailbone when his arm snakes around your waist to press you harder against him, like he’s just replaced his beloved pillow with you. And when he holds you just a bit tighter, his small whimper resounds in your ear and makes your skin prickle.

You aren’t prepared for how shaky and thin his voice is in your ear when he says, “All I want is you, now.”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip, biting down harder than necessary. It takes everything in you not to squirm back against the press of his erection, to hear him whimper in your ear again. Your hand wraps around his forearm across your waist like a vise, everything below it wound up unbearably tight and aching, begging to be satiated. His skin is hot against your hand, nearly burning to the touch, and you can’t imagine how stifling it must feel to be under that mask now.

Your face contorts in desperation, fingers crooking forward and nails digging into his skin enough that he draws a sharp breath in. “I’m- I w-w-ant…”

Your breath catches loudly in your throat, your words hiccupping when his other hand comes up to your chest and, using one gloved finger, he collects the sticky trail of golden syrup, pausing just at the hem of your tank top to wipe it all off of the fabric. And then he lifts his hand, and brings his finger to your mouth.

“We don’t want to waste it,” he says quietly.

You suck on your teeth for half a second. It’s obnoxious how wet you are, how you can feel your arousal saturating your underwear and probably beginning to leak through the thin barrier of your leggings. You’re already fit to burst, sitting between his legs and pretending it’s not exactly where you want to be, alien-induced lust or no. But then you make the executive decision to open your mouth and wrap your lips around his finger, and he fully fucking moans in your ear.

Holy shit. You jam your hips back against his crotch without even trying to hold back. So much for the art of seduction.

A sharp breath hisses through his teeth behind the mask. His hand tightens down on your waist, his forearm squeezing you harder against his chest as he rocks his hips forward so slowly . You know that you’re not doing yourself any favors, but you can’t help it. This time he does press his finger further into your mouth, curling down and physically stroking your tongue as you suck the criminal aphrodisiac off of it.

“You want to… want to handle it together? Yeah?” He whispers, slowly dragging his finger out of your mouth and leaving you panting. “Want me to- to help? God, I won’t do it if you don’t ask-”

You don’t know exactly what he means by ‘help.’ It could be that he’s saying he’ll push you face-first into the couch and fuck you senseless, right here. You’ve seen how unforgiving he can be to people, and he could probably wring you out and leave you wallowing afterwards. To be honest, you don’t really mind if that’s what he has planned. Your judgment is just clouded enough that you’d let him do anything he wanted with your body, as long as he screws this overwhelming need out of your system.

“Yeah, I’m- please.” You hear his breathing stop, and you reach back to place a hand on the side of his head, feeling the contour of his cheek through the slippery fabric of his mask. “Please, I… I want you to.”

“Yeah?” His voice is soft. Vulnerable. He clears his throat, and then his gloved hand is dragging down your chest, fingers fumbling along the band of your leggings and wedging under them. “Yeah, okay. Fuck, okay.”

Once you realize what he’s doing, you know that it’s going to turn you on to no end that the leather of his gloves is so cold and impersonal, making his fingers bulkier and unyielding. To add to that, little ridges are moulded into the pads of them, you presume, to help with grip. What they’re really helping with right now is making you lose all sense of focus, when his finger dips through your slick cunt and drags long and so painfully slow over your swollen clit.

The moan you make is obscene in its volume and has nearly the same intonation as humming a high pitched and long mhmm. Your nails dig in and scratch up his forearm hard enough to leave four long claw marks, raising welts on his pale skin, to which he groans into your ear and presses his finger down just a bit harder for you.

“Fuck. Shit’s got you so wet. Feels good, doesn’t it?” He breathes. You swear you can nearly feel the heat of his breath on your neck as it punches through the fabric of his mask. “Yeah, I bet it does. I bet it tastes even better.”

“You can… you can taste-” you cut yourself off with a whine when drags the length of his gloved finger over your clit again, and your back nearly arches away from his chest. His arm crushes you back against him, keeping you from moving away even an inch.

You feel him shake his head. “Not yet, I wanna help you first. Let me?”

You give him a wordless whine in response, but you think he gets the message. His finger dips down and curves along the slope of your pussy to find your entrance, the leather of his glove slick enough with your wetness to provide only the kind of resistance that makes you crave more. Your head drops back onto his shoulder when he slides in and curls upwards, finding the pad of muscle that lights up with nerves when he presses it.

“Oh, fuck fuck fuck,” you groan when he starts moving in a slow, smooth back-and-forth that makes your legs jerk and spasm alongside his. Your hips rock onto his hand to mirror that motion, but all you succeed in doing is grinding back against his erection even more, and his free hand presses down against your stomach to get you to stop.

“Please, I- I know you want more but if you keep doing that I’m gonna come so soon and I don’t want to do that before I’m inside you and I don’t want to be inside you until I kiss you,” he blathers, keeping up the repetitive movement of his finger into your cunt that has your body writhing against him. His mask presses hot and damp along your shoulder, and you realize that it’s his lips you feel tracing your skin through the fabric. You feel them move as he mutters, “I want to kiss you so bad.”

“Then kiss me.” You gasp, your cunt tightening down around his finger. God, it’s so thick with the leather, and you feel like grinding down on it despite his warning. “Kiss me, you fuuuu-cking idiot, don’t wait. I want to kiss you, too. Why are you waiting?”

“The mask, I can’t.”

You impatiently scratch your fingers along his neckline, searching for that bottom edge that he’s been fucking around with for the last hour. Your hips involuntarily rock down against his hand again, and he jams his palm up against your clit to give you a bit more of the friction that you seek.

He gives you a weak sound in the back of his throat when you hook your finger under the edge of his mask and pull, yanking it up to just past the edge of his nose. You hear it when he gasps, uninhibited by fabric, and it’s so fresh and clear, arguably hotter.

He curls his finger sharply, making you jolt against his hand and grab onto his neck for stability, his face bared for your hand. His skin is smooth, his jaw sharp and defined against your palm. “Shit, you’re so- so hot. So fucking-”

“J-just…” A gasp. “Shut up. I’m trying to Spider-Man kiss you.”

You pull at his cheek, turning your head to awkwardly kiss him over your shoulder. His nose bumps yours, his breath hitting your mouth in a heavy, nervous rush. Then he tilts his head just slightly and he’s on you, lips parted and tongue brushing yours.

Oh god, the heat of it could burn you alive if you let it.

He pulls his finger slowly out of you, and you whine into his open mouth with the loss of contact. He shushes you, quick to smother your mouth once again, and his fingertip turns to rubbing gentle circles around your clit.

You make a series of desperate noises, pawing at his face and trying to draw him further into your mouth. Your body shudders against him, hips pushing downward onto his finger like that will make him touch you more.

He pulls back just enough that his nose brushes yours, and you crane your neck to try to find his lips again. His breath hits your mouth, and it tastes nearly as sweet and seductive as the alien syrup was.

“Shit, I-I didn’t think this was how it would happen,” he sighs, his lips just brushing yours as your hips seek friction in his hand.

A long, wordless whine leaves your mouth, and then you wheeze, “You thought about it?”

“All the time. When I see you. When I try to go to sleep. When I jerk off.” His hips grind against the curve of your ass, his soft grunt meeting yours in the air. “I wanted… wanted to- wanted you to see my- ah, fuck it.”

His free hand comes up, and you just barely see him rear back and slip his hand under the edge of the mask, giving it a swift yank. It makes a quiet thunk on the ground with the rest of his discarded armor, but you’re too strung out to pay much attention.

Your hand plunges back into a mess of curly brown hair as he stretches forward to kiss you again. Your eyes meet a flash of green, and your cunt throbs forebodingly against his fingers.

“You h-have-” you suck in a shaky breath, nearly struggling to take in air properly. Exhale… exhale inhale? Inhale?? Ex...exhale… “Green eyes. I love- love-”

You come with a strangled noise, painfully clenching down on nothing as he kisses you, continuing to stroke your clit even though your legs jolt and your heels push and kick against the couch cushion like you’re trying to get away. His free hand presses against your chest, keeping you flush against him- you catch him squeezing at your breast through your thin tank top, but you can’t fault him for it. He’s been so patient, so attentive. More than you’ve been.

“That’s good,” he whispers against your mouth. “Pretty. You’re so pretty.”

You’re out of breath, panting heavily towards his face. “You… you.” You’re not able to form a more coherent sentence just yet, so you sort of pat the side of his head and hope he understands.

He slows his fingers gradually to a full stop, letting it rest dormant against your throbbing clit. His forehead pressed to yours, he lets you take a few cleansing breaths before he says, “Can we…?”

He leaves that open-ended, but you guess that you’re both just taking your cues from the context at this point. You smack your hand down over his and pull it away from your chest so that you can move forward. He whines.

“I’m just trying to take off my clothes,” you tell him plainly, lifting your tank top up over your head. “You could do the same, y’know.”

“You could help.” His hand touches the middle of your back- his bare hand, now.

You freeze, tank top hitting the floor. He took off the gloves. His skin is on yours. Your brain short circuits, a small shiver running up your spine.

You take your sweet time turning around, your hips twisting with the movement. You sling a leg over his, your toe just barely brushing the carpet as you try to maneuver the odd position you’re in. You almost feel like you’re trying not to look directly at his face, like it’s improper to get anything other than an indirect glimpse of brown hair, green eyes, sharp jaw, pale skin.

Your eyes land on his thigh first, tactical pants stretched taut across hard muscle. Then they shift to his bulge- which honestly looks like something painful, at this point, straining ungodly hard against the front of his trousers. You trail your eyes up his torso, over the black shirt that made you nearly lose your mental faculties. You hesitate when you reach the neckline of it, but finally, your curiosity wins over.

You find his face, and you don’t know why you hesitated. You want to stare at his face for the rest of time.

He watches you with a shy, almost nervous expression. His lips are pressed tight into a thin line, his jaw twitching as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. His hair is flattened over his head in matted curls, a bit damp with sweat and hanging across his brow. He blinks, and long eyelashes catch the light.

You take a few swift breaths, steeling yourself to look directly into those round, green eyes. “You know, it’s really fucking criminal that you hide your face, Vigilante.”

“Adrian.”

“What?”

“My name is Adrian,” he admits softly. His eyes fall to where your legs are thrown over his thigh. “Also I wear glasses and you’re kind of sitting on them right now.”

“Oh.”

You awkwardly shuffle back, bracing yourself on your knees between his legs as he reaches down to open a pocket on his thigh and pulls out a pair of aviator glasses. He puts them on, pushing them up to the bridge of his nose before he looks back at you. Or, he makes direct eye contact with your tits.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” You roll your eyes, sitting back on your feet.

“What? You have a really nice rack. I mean, I’ve been able to look at your face this whole time and you’re gorgeous.” He reaches out like he means to grope your chest, but pulls back at the last second. “Like, all of you. Perfect.”

You hum, leaning forward to straddle his legs and push your chest into his outstretched hands. His breath hiccups in his throat, his eyes finding your face when you cradle his cheeks in your hands and tilt his head up toward yours. “I’m gonna get you naked now, Adrian.”

He nods eagerly, his hands squeezing your breasts almost instinctively. “Okay. Okay, yeah, good idea.”

You kiss him once, and then your hands yank his shirt up over his head without any flourishing. He scrambles to catch his glasses before they fall, fumbling to get them back on his face. You reach down to undo his belt, but then you stop, and cast a glance back at his somewhat complicated-looking boots and padding.

“Dude, could your armor be any harder to get off?” you grumble as you scooch back to lift his boot into your lap.

“That’s kind of the fucking point,” he says as he pulls his other leg up to start undoing the other. “I mean, can you imagine if I was fighting someone and my boot just fell off? That’s a safety hazard. Also, this is a nice bonding experience for us.”

“Oh, is it?” You yank the boot after loosening the laces, and it’s still not coming off.

“Yeah, I mean, you’re getting to see how my armor works. I’m getting to have you undress me. Careful, there’s a-”

“OW!”

“-knife in there, sorry.”

You huff a sigh as you pull a long dagger out of the ankle of his boot and toss it down onto the coffee table, then lifting your hand and sucking at the cut on your thumb. “This is like trying to get you out of deep sea diving gear. Look, I just want you to fuck my brains out before I do it myself.” You lose your patience and drop your hands from his boot. “Or I could just sit on your face. You want me to sit on your face?”

He groans as he roughly tugs his boot off, then starts working on the one in your lap. “Christ- You want me to cream my pants? I will, I’m so fucking hard right now. I already almost did when I had my finger in your pussy. Don’t talk to me about it- don’t.”

He throws his second boot so hard that it plops down on the other side of the coffee table. You swallow hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. You scoot back further on the couch, crushing your back up against the arm again to muscle your way out of your leggings. Your legs bump his as he lifts his hips to slide out of his own, and with a graceless snap of elastic, you fling your leggings back against the window behind you. Your bare legs plop down over his, leaving you naked and spread-eagled across from him.

He gets his pants down- fucking finally- kicking them off roughly and discarding them with the rest. You glance at his cock; hard, impressively long, swollen and looking like it desperately needs attention. He surges forward, clambering over you and pushing you back to lay against the couch cushions.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he babbles as he strokes a shaky hand up your thigh, “You’re so hot and I’ve wanted to do this for so long but you’re so soft and I don’t know if I can be gentle right now-”

“So don’t.” You’re just as breathless as he is as his hand finds your face and his thumb traces your bottom lip with a touch of innocence. You part your lips and suck on the end of it, finding his eyes wide and dilated as you pull back. “You think you’re the only one who’s been wanting this? Don’t be nice. If you’re nice, then I won’t be.”

He gulps. “But I don’t want to actually hurt you.”

“Adrian, just wreck my shit. Do it.”

He slips into you in one fluid motion, the stretch your body makes to fit him nearly overwhelming despite how wet you are from your first orgasm. He groans fantastically loud into your shoulder, and just stops. Stops moving, stops breathing, maybe even stops thinking as you shudder and wrap your legs around his hips.

“Adrian-”

“Don’t.”

Your hands find his hair, soft and pliable between your fingers. “Are you going to come already, baby?”

“Don’t- don’t call me that- I don’t want to-” He gasps, his muscles tensing up as he struggles to hold still. He breathes out with a sharp blast of air against your skin. “You’re so perfect you feel so good oh my god oh my god-”

Your face burns. You draw a hand up his spine, fingers dancing along his smooth skin. You didn’t imagine he would be the one unable to hold on. “If you need to, you can. It doesn’t matter, I’m not finished with you yet.”

“I’m not- not usually like this,” he admits in a high, weak voice. His hips instinctively grind into yours, and he reaches the end of you and presses up against something absolutely devastating that has you moaning up toward the ceiling. “It’s the fucking- ah- iridescent… butterfly shit. Fuck butterflies.”

“It’s fucking fffffff-” your eyes nearly roll back in your skull when he fully pulls out and slams back in, jolting you up toward the headrest. The couch creaks, a warm breeze sweeps in through the open skylight, somewhere across the room the voyeuristic alien titters in the confines of its jar, but you don’t care. You feel stifled, like you’re drowning. It’s even harder to breathe when he’s giving something between a sob and a whimper into your shoulder, the rim of his glasses digging into your skin. “It’s fi- huuh. Fine. Oh god.”

You told him not to be nice, so, he’s not. You don’t think he’s being particularly mean, but he’s jackhammering into you so hard that you’re seeing stars at the end of every hard thrust. Your nails scratch down his back, likely leaving more welts like they did to his arm. All at once, your muscles clamp down around him, and he shouts into your shoulder. His hips snap into yours one final time, and his entire body shakes against you. He pauses for a drawn out moment, hovering over you, and then you feel him squeeze your thigh twice.

You take a steadying breath, hardly able to think past the ache in your core, halfway to orgasm and just sitting idle on that plateau. “Did you just…?”

“Yeah.”

“Was it enough?”

“Absolutely fucking not.” He pulls back to look at you, and confusion is written all over his expression, along with something that looks close to concern. “I’m still… still…?”

He’s still hard. You can feel it, pulsing within you, hard and thick like you’re still just getting started.

“What the fuck is in that stuff?” He casts his eyes gravely toward the jar on the table, like he has a bone to pick with it.

“I’m gonna take a guess and say something not from Earth.” You reach up to tilt his face back toward you. His eyelashes flutter, and he sucks in a ragged breath when you whisper, “Keep going, baby.”

He draws out slowly this time, and eases carefully back in like he wants to treat you gently now. His eyes stay fixed to yours, his nose nearly brushing against your own as he rocks his hips, moving in small circles that make your toes curl and your hips buck up toward his impatiently.

“Don’t go slow,” you whine, arching your back when he moves smoothly into you, all the way to the end and back, “Why are you… don’t be gentle, I-”

“No, I read somewhere that most of sex is mental, like it’s the teasing that turns you on the most,” he says clinically, continuing to move within you. A short puff of air meets your lips, and then he adds, “Plus, if you asked me not to be nice wouldn’t it make sense that I do the opposite of that? It’s like a double negative.”

“Adrian, shut up. Please, shut up.” You thump your hand down on his shoulder blade, trying to buck your hips up into his again and ultimately failing.

“No, because it’s hot when you lose your patience with me like that.” Your eyes flutter shut, mouth falling open, and his face is close enough to yours that the lenses of his glasses fog up. He reaches up a shaking hand to tug them off, and they clatter to the floor with the rest of his clothes. “It’s also cute when you try to hurt me. I get stabbed regularly. Turns me on when you do it, though. You should try to stab me sometime, it would be fun.”

He speeds up for just a second, just enough that you moan and grab onto him, but ultimately slows back down to that languid pace that keeps pleasure winding up tight in your core.

“I h-hate you,” you stutter out, weaving your fingers through his hair just to yank on it. He hisses through his teeth, and after another sharp tug you feel his hand grab yours and pin it against the armrest above your head. “I hate you.”

“Really? But you’re so wet for me right now,” he mutters with that chipper, happy note to his voice that’s just shy of infuriating. “Mm, and tight. God, I love your pussy.”

Your free hand grips his shoulder so hard that you know you leave crescent moon shaped dents in his skin. He lets out a groan, a soft sound vibrating from the back of his throat, and you just barely process it before he kisses you, giving you one hard thrust to make you squeak against his lips.

He bites down on your lip as he pulls back. You feel his hand skimming your hip, your stomach, reaching down between your bodies. “You think if I rub your clit again I’ll make you come quicker? I think you’ll last ten seconds.”

You snap your eyes open and hiss a warning, “Adrian…”

“Hm. I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Adri-”

His thumb touches your clit, and a loud moan punches out of your lungs, your head rolling back and legs spasming on either side of his hips. It feels so fucking good, too good, and you can barely comprehend him releasing your arm above your head and bringing it down to hook around the back of his neck.

You come with another loud cry of his name. It pours over you in waves, burning brighter than the sun and making your body jolt up against his. Your hands scramble for a hold on him anywhere they can get, one finding the curve of his lower back and giving it a weak push, urging him deeper into your spasming cunt.

He fucks into you harder, making you sob into the open air as the pleasure turns raw and sharp, a cutting edge on a cathartic kind of pain. And then he heaves a heavy breath, and his teeth sink into your shoulder as he groans and stills his hips, a flood of warmth leaving you full and wetness leaking from you onto the cushion below.

His teeth leave your shoulder once he stops moaning, a warm cloud of breath making the sore skin there tingle. He kisses the marks he left, and then he fully slumps down on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to yours.

You lay still, your hand still pressed into the dip of his lower back. You take a sharp breath through your nose. He smells so… distinct. Like fennel and pinewood and maybe a little bit of sea salt. Vigilante.

You just fucked Vigilante.

You blink up toward the ceiling. You just fucked Vigilante… on Peacemaker’s couch.

Again, he seems to read your mind. His voice cracks in your ear when he whimpers, “Peacemaker’s gonna fucking kill me.”

“Us. He’ll have to go through me first.” You playfully squeeze his ass, and he shivers as he pulls back to look at you with an obvious fucked-out haze in his eyes. It makes you smile, and you twist one of his tousled curls around your fingertip. You give him a taste of one of his own crazed giggles. “No super sex magnet powers, huh?”

He blushes. After all that, you still manage to make him blush, as he gingerly pulls out of you and braces himself on his elbows in order to kiss you on the nose. There’s something so cute about it that you grin, another giggle threatening to spill out as he rests his chin on your chest, staring up at your face through his lashes.

“Can I take you on a date?” He blurts out, his words still a little shaky. “Like, a real date. Without Goff’s weird food fucking us up. You like pizza? I know this really neat pizza place that has a bunch of old arcade games, we could go… I’ll give you all my quarters.”

“Yeah.” You sigh, pulling him up by the neck to give him a swift kiss. “I won’t even puke on your shoes.”

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rainnycloudstorm · 1 month ago

Text

poor survival instincts

so this is something inspired by an ask by the lovely @hazynbabyblue, hope you guys enjoy reading as much as i did writing hehe <3 as always comments and reblogs are super appreciated xoxo

adrian chase x reader, stalker!adrian chase x reader warnings: sadistic, voyeuristic and stalker behavior. rough sex. hints of noncon. SMUT. please read at your discretion since this may have upsetting or triggering topics for some people. Content is obviously 18+, MINORS DNI.

Adrian is restless as he drives back to Evergreen, his knee keeps bobbing up in place, hands on the wheel and eyes on the road, yet his mind is anywhere but.

Thank god the near week-long mission was finally over, it was really distracting him from his priorities.

From his daily patrols as Vigilante, his routine. From you.

His nightly visits since he had first saved you a few weeks ago had grown from sporadic to almost every day.

Because he needed to make sure you were still safe. Duh.

Nothing to do with him not even thinking straight without a daily fix.

Nothing to do with how easy it is for Adrian to climb up high, hide in the pitch black darkness, hidden by the branches of the tree that stands right outside your window.

To watch you undress and put on that oversized t-shirt you always wear after work, watch you dance around the room to a tune he hears in his head 24/7 now.

Adrian’s mouth twists upwards at the memory, even starts humming the song on reflex.

God you just make it so easy for him to watch you lay in bed, to see you slip a hand inside your night shorts, moaning pathetically into the emptiness of the bedroom. The faint obscene sounds reaches his ears every now and then.

Some special nights, he even gets to see you use your toys.

“No fuuuuucking way” He had whispered to himself as he looked on for the first time in utter disbelief.

The wide open curtains, your blissful ignorance.

The way you were using the rubbery material so aggressively to pleasure yourself. It was making Adrian all but choke on his own damn spit.

His hand mindlessly glided down to grope and tug at his groin, subconsciously imitating the rhythm and push of your own hands. The tightness in the lower part of his suit growing unbearable.

Adrian shuddered with every grace of the fabric against his skin, his little shattered cries blending in with the noise of foliage swaying around with the wind.

No one around to hear his debauched whimpers. No one to see the crime fighting Vigilante rubbing one out, out in the open. Like the peeping pervert he actually is.

No one to interrupt the private show that you were unknowingly giving away just for him, almost every day.

“Hey, can you park right up here?” Chris interrupts Adrian’s blatant daydreaming from the passenger seat of the Sebring.

“Wait- Hold on. I thought you said I was taking you to your place?” Adrian asks with a few confused blinks, shifting in place on the drivers seat, incessantly trying to hide how rock hard he is.

Just thinking about you does that to him now.

“What are you? A fucking Uber?” Chris retaliates with unwarranted yet unsurprising aggressiveness. “I just need you to snatch something up for me. My new King Kobra vinyl just arrived”

Adrian’s face goes pale as he starts maneuvering towards the sidewalk, the music store emerging in his line of sight.

He gulps, loudly. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This is where you work.

Yeah. He's followed you here a couple times too. Y'know, just making sure you dont get mugged again on the way to work or back. No other reason.

“Why can't you go pick it up?” Adrian protests, voice whiny and petulant. His palms are growing damp with the mere idea of having to walk in there and face you for the first time, up close, no glass window in between and on top of it all, without his Vigilante mask on.

He already knows Peacemaker wont let him scurry away from this.

"What the fuck do you mean why? I almost got my leg fucking blown off yesterday!" Peacemaker argues in his high octane voice, hilariously gesturing to his heavily bandaged limb. “You want me to walk in there like this? I could barely get in this fuckass car-"

“Yeah well, I got shot in the back three times so-" Adrian interrupts with a nasty twist of his head, doesn't appreciate the insult to his car. And clearly hiding something too.

Not that Peacemaker gives a shit about any of that really. He just wants to get home and play his damn record and sleep for the next week or two.

Theres a charged silence as Chris stares at him in incredulity, a glare Adrian pretends is not there as he faces forward in annoyance.

“Alright cut the bullshit okay?- That was days ago and you literally shot up outta the gurney like it was fucking nothing” Chris near yells, because of course he knows about Adrian's regeneration powers. “So stop being a little prick and do this for me”

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

Adrian's heart is literally lurching from inside his chest just watching you type out the name of the album into the system.

His hands are clammy at his sides, all the filthy images he's memorized begin flooding his vision uncontrollably, incessantly and blindingly fast.

Because fuck, you're ten times hotter than he remembers and now he can even see the hem of your black underwear peeking out from the top of your jeans.

The same one he's seen you take off a dozen times before.

Adrian's eyes only just manage to snap back up in time before you catch him staring at your midsection, looking as if he were in some kind of trance.

"You're a friend of Chris?" You ask, with what he assumes is a very convincing customer service smile.

He registers your mouth moving but not a single word that comes out of it, he gawks at you for a second before the words begin decoding in his brain.

And then his stomach falls out of his ass for an instant, at the thought of you knowing anything about him at all. Because he's the one who's supposed to be doing the stalk- wait no, protecting.

But then, it immediately clicks, the receipt he just gave you has Christoper Smith's name on it.

"For sure! we're more than that actually. We're best friends, besties! i guess is what most people would call it nowadays-" He word vomits, subconsciously tries to impress you.

At that you giggle, and Adrian swears he might just sink into the wooden floor. He loves that sound.

"Well he does have an unconventional yet amazing taste in music" You offer with a cheeky raise of your brows, as if you're sharing an inside joke with him.

Adrian stares blankly, clearly and quite understandably not putting two and two together.

If anything, theres only a flare of jealousy that starts inside him.

Chris has known you all this time?

How did this escape him? He had been so fucking thorough.

"Same goes for his friends apparently" You clarify, giving him a knowing quirk of your mouth. That alone, makes an idea that only a second ago Adrian would have never even thought possible pop inside his head.

Holy Shit. You are flirting with him.

He huffs out a sheepish laugh, not sure what to say next, because all the blood is rushing to his dick and all his brain is capable of thinking is that he wants you so so freakin' bad.

Wants you two to kiss, to fuck, perhaps even get married.

I mean- He already knows almost everything about you, it only makes sense.

What time you get in and outta bed. Your favorite coffee place. All the songs you play over and over. What kind of food you like. He knows what your favorite candle smells like. He knows about your closest friends, even knows where some of them live.

More importantly, he knows exactly what gets you off, how rough you like it when you fuck your-

"Looks like your boyfriend was out patrolling with Peacemaker last night." An unrecognizable voice comes from behind you.

Adrian is seething at the interruption, his eyes are burning holes into the side of your coworkers face before the sentence manages to snap him out of it.

Boyfriend?

He's pretty sure you dont have a boyfriend, i mean, he would know.

But Peacemaker? Last night? Adrian's thoughts reel with the implications.

Your coworker and friend stands beside you, phone in hand, doesn't spare Adrian a single glance before he turns the screen to show you videos of Vigilante and Peacemaker destroying some private property and overall causing mayhem.

"Can you knock it off! I just think he's cool" You laugh light-heartedly with a push of your friend's shoulder, but theres an embarrassed blush that immediately rises to your cheeks when you meet Adrian's eyes again for half a second.

So they were flirting with me. Adrian thinks, his pulse quickening. As if he needed any more confirmation.

The notion of this, along with the fact that you are basically admitting to having a crush on Vigilante right in front of him, its all making him slightly nauseous. But like, in a very very good way.

"He saved my life y'know?" You try and argue, a deceitful dreamy sigh destroying your facade.

Adrian can't help but reminisce and grin stupidly at the memory.

God did he enjoy knocking that asshole that tried to mug you straight into the fucking pavement.

His stomach flips just recalling the image of you standing next to him in shock, splatters of blood (not yours) soaking your clothes and hair, the shaky sound of your voice as you thanked him for coming to your aid, your body trembling with fear when he approached right after ending the job for good, a maniacal laugh startling you as he introduced himself as the Vigilante.

It was all Adrian needed for a full blown obsession to fester within him.

Turns out, it was all you needed too.

"Yeah and you've wanted to fuck him ever since. Whats new." Your friend snaps back with an infuriating mocking laugh, as if there aren't any customers around.

As if Adrian isn't standing right there, pupils blown wide and mouth fully agape.

All the nightly visits start flooding his mind, images of you moaning out an indistinguishable word as you arched your back like some damn contortionist. Oh shit.

"You want to-" Adrian repeats your friend's words unconsciously, as if that will help digest the damn near gut punch that this new information feels like.

But then theres the synchronized snap of you and your coworker's head at the shock of him even chiming in.

Right.

"I mean-" Adrian corrects himself with a shake of his head, before things can get even weirder, if thats possible. "He is indeed insanely cool! I dont think anyone could blame you for uh-"

"Jesus fucking christ!" You bark with an embarrassed laugh, lifting your arms up in surrender.

"Just go grab this from the stock that arrived this morning will you?" You snap at your coworker as he whistles sarcastically, pushing him to go on his way with the name of the album printed out.

But then, it's just you and him again.

Adrian has to control the god honest smugness that is taking over his features, but still, his shining eyes and slightly upturned mouth carry the same weight of it.

"Sorry about that." You say, sounding a lot more nervous than when he first walked in.

The unnerving glint in his stare is causing your skin to prickle too.

"He's not my boyfriend by the way. I dont even know who he is, honestly it's stupid-" You blabber out, feeling the need to salvage the situation.

But Adrian sulks at those words, twists his mouth in disapproval.

"Not stupid at all actually" He comments, the irony of it all tickling his insides.

He debates on whether he should tell you the truth about his alter ego Vigilante right in broad daylight, with Peacemaker still waiting in his car. But he's too much of a professional to do that.

Besides, he's got much more pressing and urgent matters to act upon now.

"What time do you get off work?" Adrian interrupts before you could reply with something else, it barely sounds like a question, theres not a hint of casual romantic intent or wonder in his voice, only an urgency and impatience that would sound concerning coming from any other guy.

To his unknowing advantage, Adrian's painfully and dangerously your type.

You were even actively anticipating he would ask that question almost as soon as he walked in, when you so clearly and shamelessly saw the outline of what he was hiding inside those jeans of his.

"In a couple hours" You answer, a coy little smile forming on your lips. "Here let me give you my number, i'll text you" you insist, eagerly reaching in to your pockets to find a marker.

Adrian laughs internally as you grab at his wrist and turn it upward to write on his palm.

He already knows exactly what time your shift ends, knows that this is the day you usually stop to buy take out for dinner and down it completely while watching some shitty horror movie.

"I'm Adrian by the way" He comments with a nonchalant shrug even though theres goosebumps erupting all over his body. His eyes are expectant, because he needs you to say it back. Your name.

This is the first time he hears it, loud and clear. The final piece of his ever growing puzzle. And you give it away, so freely, it almost feels like he's cheating.

And you, so ignorant to not think about it twice because god is he cute with those stupid spectacles. I guess this is what they call poor survival instincts.

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

There was something rather off, something that maybe you should have pondered for a minute or two before allowing Adrian Chase into your home.

Someone you literally just met.

Something about the way he had started to edge towards a parking spot near your apartment complex mere seconds before you had let him know it was right up ahead.

The worrying thought pops into your head when it's already too late anyways.

It resurfaces for only an instant before Adrians tongue is slipping inside your mouth, moaning like a man who god honest sounds like he's being tortured or stabbed to death. His hands are everywhere it's incredibly distracting, your hair, your neck, your chest, your ass, as if he cant decide what he should attach to first.

Adrian's sounds are high pitched and so incredibly noisy, you can barely focus on the blaring warning sirens going off in your mind because of them.

He drops to his knees on the hallway before you even reach your bedroom, grabbing on to your jeans and pulling at them on the way down as if it were too important of a task to leave for later, aka just a few steps ahead.

Adrian finds what he's looking for, a complete unfiltered close up view of your underwear.

"God,-" He chokes before he attaches his mouth at the skin right above them, licks a painfully long stripe upwards until he reaches your mouth again. "Those are soooo fucking hot-" He says, and sure it's a normal enough comment to make, but it's the way he says it that makes your breath hitch. It's knowing, almost reminiscing. Your skin crawls with something you cant quite distinguish.

Is it arousal or some gut instinct to run away? A nervous laugh is all you can muster in response.

You were doomed from the beginning.

Because you're already sobbing into Adrian's mouth before you even get the chance to tell him you need more time to properly accommodate his length inside you.

Adrian is relentless, harsh, determined.

He fucks like he knows. Knows that you like it when it stings.

Still he laughs in surprise when you involuntarily tighten around him for the first time, quicker than you have ever experienced, quicker than he has ever seen from you thats for sure. "Holy Shit! you're like sooooo easy to break in" He says, with a pitiful whimper of his own.

"Has anyone fucked you like this before? Kinda seems like i'm the first with the way you're basically swallowing up my dick already-Fuuuuck!" He buckles above you, feeling a second wave hit you so hard his own breathing is cut short, his movements requiring ten times more effort with how you're clenching around him, even your arms and legs lock around his frame with a tight grip.

His questionable choice of words are not registering, if anything, they're only making you turn your head to the side, avoiding his eyes and his face, trying to distract yourself from how aroused they truly make you, the sensitivity growing unbearable but simultaneously not enough.

But you still shake your head no. Because it's the truth.

Because this is something that had been kept hidden in fantasies, behind thick curtains and a durable glass of shame.

But Adrian sees you. For longer than you could have possibly imagined.

For longer than you would have ever allowed him to.

"I guess thats why you usually just fuck yourself with your hand or those insanely big toys huh?- How the fuck does that not hurt though?- Like, holy shit! the way you use them-" He comments with a tactless laugh right against your ear, moans at the words like it's the very thing thats driving him to go harder, snappier.

Like he's not dropping the most insane, most revealing, most self-condemning information.

"But I'm better right? Fucking- please tell me I'm better, It would really mess with my self esteem if you were to tell me I'm not doing-" He continues, his voice going thin with the effort it takes to talk.

"How the fuck do you know that?" You ask, head snapping back to meet his eyes, blood rushing to your ears, heat flooding your face, heartbeat so intense it nearly blinds you.

And yet, you dont push him off you. And yet, you're still shaking beneath him.

"Adrian what the fuck are you-" You near sob, in worry? in pleasure?who really knows at this point.

"You should reaaaally think about closing the blinds before doing all that shit, like c'mon- there are some real perverts out there you know?" He admonishes, severing the blame from Adrian to Vigilante for his own amusement.

It all finally clicks.

"How long have you been spying on me?" You ask. Voice breaking, tears flooding your eyes in fear and utter shame.

"I mean- probably as long you've been fucking yourself thinking about Vigilante-" Adrian humiliates you, a scary and impersonal smile rises on his lips, a tight lip one that reaches his eyes but in a way that makes his face all the more deranged to look at.

You still dont push him off you.

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rainnycloudstorm · 1 month ago

Text

Bitter-sweet

Summary: Officers from other towns were reassigned to help the understaffed police force in Evergreen after the butterfly massacre. The good old game of cat and mouse begins with Vigilante continuing his shenanigans and one police officer determined to catch him. Except it is not entirely clear who is chasing whom.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid and use protection guys), blood play, gun play (but not really) enemies to enemies with benefits type of relationship, violence, dead bodies, alcohol consumption, foul language. Female reader and no use of Y/N.

Word count: 5.4k (my hand slipped, I’m sorry)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Extra songs for this fic

Masterlist of my works

Note: I realized I missed writing so much since I don’t write essays in school anymore and I got quite a positive reaction on my last work Laundry girl (I love you guys fr). This time I tried something different? I feel like this is messier than the last one, lousy idea, but you know how it is. Also I have never written smut before, so get ready for some weird shit. English is not my first language, I apologize for mistakes, especially with tenses. Criticism is very much welcomed! Thank you for every like, reblog and comment, it makes me all giddy whenever I get a notification <3

The Project Butterfly was a case that shocked everyone. Aliens invading Earth? Shady business with convicts led by Waller? Something that shocked you personally was the sudden disappearance of whole police precinct in Evergreen. Whole town ended up with no cops and needed help. Which was a great opportunity for you to start up.

Your dream? Gotham. City swarmed with villains. You needed to prove you’re tough enough for catching real supervillains. Where better to start than Evergreen? You agreed to relocate there to help, however your real target was Vigilante.

Some people said that what he was doing was good, catching criminals and ending their lives before they could do it again. But no one deserves to be above law and deciding fate of souls that can still reach redemption. Even if he helped saved the world from alien invasion.

So many times you saw him creeping through the streets late at night, but never managing to get close enough. After a few encounters, he realized you were specifically after him. A fan who kept a close eye on his work.

One night when you were stumbling home back from a bar, you heard weird sounds coming from an alleyway next to an abandoned store. Nothing out of the ordinary you would think, but it sounded like someone was in pain. You would be a bad cop to not help someone in need, no matter if it was past your working hours.

And since then, he started taunting you. Leaving a big V with the blood of his victims for you, quite few times even turning the signature letter into a heart.

And they say romance is dead.

With caution you walked over there, lamp lights did a shitty job illuminating the streets, but you were able to recognize a body laying on the ground. Blood was seeping from under the man who was killed by a clear headshot, judging by the injuries you were able to see.

Quiet shuffling and groaning was audible from a distance. The realization that something is very wrong came far too late. Before you could even recognize what was happening a stranger pulled you around the corner and your yelp was muffled by a gloved hand.

“Shhhh shhh. It’s just me.” Vigilante. As if that made it any better. “If I remove my hand, will you scream?”

Decisions, decisions. You were more likely to punch him in the face rather than scream, but if he just killed the guy, it wasn’t smart to start a fight with someone riding on adrenaline and someone who is far more ready to fight. You would not cause much damage in high heels, short dress and still tipsy from the bar.

Eventually you shook your head, and he removed his hand from your face. Uncomfortable silence filled the air. Should you even ask what happened?

You searched for his eyes behind the red visor, until you noticed he was staring down. Was he…

“Are you staring at my tits?’’

A gloved hand made its way to your cleavage, pressing his hand against your skin to feel it rise and fall with every shallow breath you took. Your wide eyes followed his bold move, you felt the warmth of his body and it was making you feel insane.

“Your heart is beating really fast.” A simple observation that mesmerized him. He also wasn’t completely calm, quite the opposite. Since you disrupted his hunt so abruptly.

Before you came he had been planning on drawing a nice big V on the floor for you, a greeting he sent you every time he left a corpse behind him.

All this time in Evergreen you focused on getting near to Vigilante, to catch him and serve some justice for reckless behavior, for playing God. And now he was closer than ever, even daring to touch you without a doubt in his head, it made your brain circuit.

“Not so fast on your feet now, huh?” You had to mock him for it of course. All this time he was counting on his swiftness, it finally caught up to him.

You noticed he started to breathe faster too, his chest piece was rising with every deep inhale, and even in the low light of the street lamp you saw a dark stain on his mask. It did not take long before he rolled up the bottom half of his mask in exhaustion.

No wonder he had trouble breathing when blood was flowing from his nose onto his lips that did not look exactly intact too. Must have been a heavy fight.

“Shut up.” Vigilante tried to wipe the blood off his face with his wrist, groaning as he did so. Simultaneously you were taking a mental note that he was in fact comfortable with showing you the bottom half of his face. What was in your head an investigation of a target, he saw as blunt staring.

For a moment you two kept ogling each other. You took interest in the little human part he showed you, bloody puffy lips, clean-shaven jaw and few moles on his cheeks all felt surreal after all this time you saw him as a simple masked head with a red visor.

Vigilante on the other had studied your eyes, how bright they suddenly looked, how they gazed at him with curiosity and most importantly how they kept flicking to his lips. He was no genius but a voice inside his head told him there was a tad more to this.

Something about stopping the alien invasion made him bolder, more confident, most of the time he felt like king of the world. Of course, people that knew him as Adrian Chase, a dorky weirdo, had no idea he basically saved the world.

But you knew and he loved it.

He suddenly pressed his lips against yours, releasing a low painful groan when your noses got smushed. Hands dropped to your waist to pull you closer and yours found their way to his chest. Finally there was an opportunity to touch the expensive suit.

You saw him as a villain, or at least desperately wanted him to be, and Adrian saw himself as hero of Evergreen.

Heroes always get the girl, right? That’s how it should go.

Vigilante pulled away before you could kiss him back. Maybe the alcohol made you much more reckless than you thought.

“You taste bitter.” He commented and licked his lips. Was it that surprising? Considering you rocked a perfect sour face every time anyone even mentioned his name.

His tongue pried its way into your mouth and brought the savory taste of blood with it. Who would have thought this psycho would be a good kisser. Conscience started flipping with guilt when you realized you enjoyed this more than running after him.

“I’ve been drinking gin and tonic at the bar.” Immediately as you explained your bitter lips and his bloody ones got connected once again in a far hungrier kiss.

Regrets of tomorrow will be ringing in your ears for days. Will you be able to work with peace of mind when you’re making out in a dark alleyway with your nemesis?

Your inner voice urged you to bite his lip, to worsen his wound, make it bleed again. You wanted to get back at him for pulling you into this situation and maybe, just maybe, you enjoyed the taste of iron in your mouth.

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards before he quickly latched his mouth just under your jaw. You felt the sticky remains of blood he left with every kiss on your throat. It felt good, too good, but he you couldn’t grant him the satisfaction of you bearing throat to him. He did not deserve to feel like a predator, like he could simply latch his teeth into your weak spot.

Your tongue swiped over his lower lip, searching and then probing into his split lip. The action made him tighten the grip he had on your waist, bunching up your dress. And when you bit harshly on his lip, tugging away and releasing it with a snap, he whimpered out the most sinful noise you have heard. It got stuck in your head, what would you give to hear it one more time.

He pulled away in surprise and you got a chance to see your work, lip swelling and beautiful red appeared once again and his tongue licked the new blood that trickled down.

“You realize that I have to do something about the dead guy, no matter how much you kiss me.” You manage to find the strength to keep your voice steady in between heavy breaths.

“Or you can just leave him here, he got what he deserved,” You immediately missed his warm lips on your neck. “You could get what you deserve too, if only you weren’t so stubborn. I could take good care of you” Vigilante murmured and left his position on your neck. With a little concentration, you were able to recognize two wide eyes staring at you through a red visor, twitching between your lips to your neck, clearly admiring the claim he landed on you. Blood and spit glistening all over your throat, oh could you get any sexier in his eyes?

“I should be putting handcuffs on you and taking you out of here.” You spat back and straightened your back with hopes of appearing taller, confident.

“How do you know about those?” Blood in your veins grew colder in an instant. Then it hit you, this freak does more than laugh in your face every time you arrive at the crime scene too late, taunting you for every criminal he managed to catch before you.

“Only if they are the pink fluffy ones you keep in your top drawer.” Smug smile played on his face as he presented his wrists up to you with a dramatic sigh. Your pink handcuffs? Wouldn't it be too on the nose for a police officer to have kinky handcuffs?

He got it wrong anyway, you do not keep them in your top drawer, they’re in the third one. A stupid birthday gift can always turn out to be useful in the right situation.

“Are you stalking me?” Your voice cracked a little, it had been a long night and this just gave it a crown. Eyes glinting with surprise? Anger? Excitement? This is wrong, right? So why did your heart skip a beat at the thought of Vigilante watching you through your window?

“No?” More of a question rather than an answer. Fucking liar. “I happened to be walking around your house when you had your curtains open.” The way he said it was so slurred, he realized his mistake. Gloved hands were twitching along his sides, biting his lip in frustration of fucking up, wincing once the pain of split lip reminded him of his condition.

“Fucking unbelievable!” You pushed him away and with wobbly legs, you slithered past him. “I’m reporting this dead body to the precinct. Pack your shit and go.” You absentmindedly pointed to the dead guy bleeding on the pavement.

Meanwhile Vigilante was still standing there with eyes following your every movement as you walked over to his victim, listening to clacks of high heels. Part of him could not believe you would let him go just like that, especially after you learned of his occasional late-night visits, the other part wanted to run and save his ass, just to play this game a little bit longer.

Before he decided to listen to your order and leave, he took a last quick look at you as you tried to scrub off the dried blood he left on you while searching for your superior’s number on your phone.

Oh, the fire you two just started will keep him awake the rest of the night, he was sure of it. Whether it was cursing the world for throwing obstacles in his life with a bottle of whiskey or succumbing to his perverse mind in the shower.

After your strange run-up with Vigilante in the alleyway everything started to tangle up more than it used to. Starting with a patchy explanation of why you suddenly found a dead guy in valley without blowing out the truth that you made out with the killer a few minutes after he shot the poor guy.

Sharp mind turned into a dull organ sitting in your head, thinking about Vigilante in the opposite way you should. If you were still in middle school, you would be probably drawing stick figures of him and you with hearts all around while simultaneously stabbing a pencil through his head. Were you truly so weak to his charm? All you needed was to clear your head, right?

Same thoughts over and over again swarmed your head, even after a long day in work. You barely dragged your feet to your small house in exhaustion. You kicked off your shoes in hallway with a sigh and went straight to the living room. All you wanted was to lay on the couch, watch some stupid chick flick and let sleep take you.

The last thing you expected though, was a large figure lounging on the couch in complete darkness. Once you switched on lights you quickly recognized the one and only Vigilante.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You yelped sternly and swiftly pulled out your gun from a holster, wasting no time to point it at him. You were used to having everything under control, nothing could surprise you, so how did this guy manage to catch you off guard all the time, how did he manage to make your life so messy and most importantly how did he manage to break into your home?

“You’ve been slacking, I wanted to know what’s up.” Vigilante cocked his head up with absolutely no other reaction to being pointed at with a gun. You wanted to shoot him in the face just for this nonchalant gesture.

“You don’t chase after me anymore,” Another bored shrug, this time he sat up on your couch and leaned his head to the side like a confused puppy. “I missed your sour face.” The way his tone changed, from accusing to clear and soft, made you loosen the grip on your gun.

The first time Vigilante got almost caught by you got him addicted even more to the adrenaline. All this time he was getting kick from killing criminals, beating up scums that don’t respect rules. Getting drunk on the feeling of power. But the second he was cutting corners, sprinting through streets with you on his tail, unlocked a whole new world for him.

The intensity of danger, one wrong step and you would catch him, put handcuffs on him and throw him in jail. This little addiction he had was as dangerous as being addicted to any other drug. Doing anything to get another dose, this time it meant sneaking into your house and confronting you from eye to eye.

“How did you get in here?” Overreaction was audible in your question and there was no wonder. Usually secure house was suddenly intruded by the masked menace of Evergreen that basked in running away from you while laughing like a maniac. Now? He came up right to you, giving you opportunity to catch him right in act of breaking and entering.

You just kept standing there watching him walk over to you without fear, without a doubt.

“You forgot to close your bathroom window,” The tip of your gun met his chest piece when he finally stopped right in front of you. Even without the benefit of seeing his face, you knew in your bones he was smirking “It was hard to squeeze through, I’m expecting applause or something.”

A frown was all he got in retaliation, nothing more and nothing else was in place for his stunt. A sensible reaction from someone whose house just got broken into, he knew it damn well, yet it did not please him.

Vigilante freed his hands from gloves and threw them hastily on the floor beside your feet, all while staring down at you. Curiosity got the better of your conscience, finger slowly moving away from the trigger, but the gun kept being pressed against his body.

Big hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs pulling at the corners of your mouth and forcing them into a lousy smile as his reward. If you refuse to give him acknowledgment it will be taken by force. His laugh was being muffled by the fabric of the dark mask, the one that had blood all over a few weeks back.

That time you were the one under the influence of alcohol that bent your consciousness, this time you felt a whiff of alcohol in Vigilante’s breath. The thought of him having to take a shot or two to give him enough courage to actually step into your territory made you all giddy inside. Maybe the all-mighty Vigilante, the menace of Evergreen, is not as indestructible as he claimed to be.

“Just between you and me, I know you don’t want to lock me up for real-“

“But I do.” You quickly interrupted him. Don’t give in.

“No, you don’t. I can see it on your face. You’re enjoying it far too much just like I do.” Debatable. But he had a point. “I mean yeah, you are pointing a gun at me and shit, but you kissed me back that night. That means something!”

He threw his hands in the air and a cheery voice just completed his dramatic bravado. However, as much as you would like to deny it, you did in fact make out with him back in that alleyway instead of doing your job.

“Do you usually make out with police officers to shake them off your track?”

“Just with you.” His hands found their place on your waist and started to play with the belt loops. And you let him continue… What is wrong with you?

“Oh I’m flattered, how is it working out for you?” With a fake smile, you pressed the gun more into his chest.

“You tell me.” Vigilante strikes again with painful truth. Yes, you were pointing your gun at him, but he had you cornered in your living room, hands seductively rubbing your hips and you let him get away with yet another murder. Well done.

His mask got rolled up and you got a chance to admire his lips. Before you could say another snarky remark, Vigilante silenced you with an urgent kiss. It was his time to shine, to bite your lip, to shove his tongue in your mouth and tangle with yours. He gave you no time to think about anything else except him.

“You know how the saying goes: Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer.” He hastily unbuttoned your work slacks, pulling the zipper down far too hard you were afraid for a moment he got it stuck. Even though you should have been more worried about the fact you just got your pants shown down your thighs.

“You consider me an enemy?” You sighed out and focused on his warm fingertips playing with the elastic of your underwear. Touches light, like his fingers were asking for permission. The lack of protests signalized a green light he was waiting for.

“Only if you shoot me.” A toothy grin plastered his face when you pressed the barrel of your gun sternly to his chin and tilted his head up. How could you pass on that opportunity to rile him up like this.

“If it means you’ll stay close to me I just might.” With those words his hand slipped past the hem of your panties, going straight for the kill and giving all the attention to your throbbing clit. He chuckled at your reaction, how you acted all tough and yet your body begged for his touch.

Your eyelids fluttered at the sudden contact, the precision he held in killing criminals clearly dominated other areas as well. Small and stern circles changed to slow and light flicks and back and all of it was accompanied by an intense gaze that searched for any kind of reaction.

You wonder what color his eyes are, that red visor was not flattering them in any way. Would he stare at you so shamelessly even without his mask or did it bring him a fake feeling of anonymity that pushed the boundaries of this escapade.

Vigilante bent down his head to the gun that lingered near his face. You could not believe your eyes for a second when he pressed a kiss to the tip of it before smirking. He’s practically begging for a bullet in his head with bullshit like this. He did not care he was basically being held at gunpoint. A decision was made to hide your gun back in the holster harness, for the safety of both parties involved.

Your hands sneaked up to his neck that was bared to you, nails lightly scraping along his prominent Adam’s apple. You soon found out it made him wild, because the second you touched his neck, two fingers were recklessly shoved inside you, forcing out a loud moan out of you.

Shameful whimpers started pouring out from your lips, wetness seeping into your completely ruined underwear. You had to ground yourself against the wall since your legs started buckling under you. The feeling of submission poured over weak body, something you weren’t used to. With an abrupt yank you pulled Vigilante’s lips onto yours to give yourself just a second of control. You will allow him to take you apart with his fingers, but you will control when a how much he will kiss you.

Twisted part of your mind craved the taste of his bloody lips on your tongue again. There was no doubt he wouldn’t tolerate you biting his lip again to make him bleed like the last time. Or would he? You did not dare.

A better option was to sneak your hands to the back of his neck. A bit of hair poking out from his bunched-up mask caught your attention. Now you knew he had brown hair. Add it to his dimples, surprisingly sweet laugh, bold demeanor and an idea of a person is born, suddenly so real. Especially when he was jackhammering his thick fingers right to your G spot.

You wanted more. You needed more. Fingers tried to slip under his mask with hopes he would not notice it when you were distracting him with your tongue in his mouth. This wasn’t fair towards him at all, he was making you feel so good and you were trying to pull his mask off.

If you knew how he looked like it would not be any trouble to find him and arrest him. That’s why you came to Evergreen voluntarily after all. If all of this was just a means to an end…

But Vigilante quickly realized what were you trying to do and caught your wrist before you could continue. “Seriously?” Annoyance seeped from his voice, grip on your wrist so tight to the point it almost hurt. But your wide eyes that stared at him like deer caught in headlights made him soften his hold.

“At least buy me a dinner before you try to pull my mask off.” He laughed it off, but pulled his fingers from your pussy and you whined at the loss.

He let go off your hand and let it drop to your body. Instead he pulled his fingers from your panties and inspected the arousal coating them before bringing them to his lips. The sight alone made you sigh.

“You taste so sweet. If only you treated me so sweetly too.” Fingers popped from his mouth, covered in spit instead of your wetness. Oh, you’re fucked.

“Lose these.” You playfully tugged on his tactical belt.

“So demanding. Very sexy of you.”

The suit had quite a complicated mechanism and rather than losing his pants he just popped the button open to free his cock, hard and leaking precum. Hot and ready to go.

His gaze lingered on you as you pulled your pants and underwear down your legs. Breath got caught in his throat at the sight of your skin. A blank canvas for him to paint.

In an instant he lunged back at you, hooking hands under your knees to raise you up and making you hook your legs around his waist. Heat radiating from his body to your core was such a lovely contrast to the cold pieces of his suit that pressed against you throughout the evening.

“Are we really about to do this?” You were breathless, sandwiched between a wall and Vigilante leaning over you.

“Only if you want to.” So genuine. A man with no boundaries asking for consent, it surprised you more than it should have. “I do.”

“Baller”

Head of his cock swiped over your clit roughly. That bastard was teasing you more and more and enjoyed every second of it. His lips parted in awe, eyes were glued down to watch the pretty sight. You became something more than a police officer going after him or prey for him to take, but God forbid if he ever admitted that to you or even himself.

“I hate you.” Voice was shaking with anticipation and so was your body. A quick chaste kiss washed away the hate you felt even if it was just for a second, then he slid into you in one clean glide until your pelvises were flush against each other.

You both moaned out into each other’s open mouths. Someone would say it was just a noise of shameful lust. For you? A nasty symphony that set off something inside, the same type of addiction that controlled the man in front of you.

“If you sound so heavenly when you hate someone I’m really curious how you sound when you love someone.” He licked his lips and bucked his hips up to force another sweet mewl out.

“Go to hell” You knew it did not sound convincing and that fucker saw right through you. Because if you truly hated Vigilante so badly he wouldn’t be balls deep inside you, stretching you out with burning pleasure. With another vain chuckle, he started snapping his hips into you with urgency.

Vigilante filled you in the best and the worst way possible. Relieving the thirst your body was screaming with as well as putting a patch over the deep hole of anger and frustration he had been digging in your heart since you met him for the first time.

There was nothing gentle or graceful about what happened. Messy, desperate, vicious, and addictive is what it was.

You tightly hold onto him with arms around his neck, clinging like a koala.

If only your squad saw you like this. You have been boasting and promising how you’re gonna be the one to catch Vigilante. And here you were, it seemed he caught you more likely. Driving his cock into you in the dimness of your living room like it was his usual nightly activity.

Truth be told, he kept fucking with you all this time to make you mad, but never in a million years you would have guessed he will be fucking with you for real.

The strong grip he had on your thighs loosened with every hard thrust. Legs were slowly but surely slipping from his waist to the floor. All his power was concentrated on snapping hips and harsh kisses until nothing was left for his arms to hold you up, yet he refused to let go of you. Gnarly bruises were forming where his fingertips dug into the soft skin of your thighs, making this meeting even more bitter-sweet.

“You can be so good when you want to be,” You barely whispered it against his lips between your combined moans “You’re so good for me. Such a good boy-“

“Fuck I’m gonna cum! Fuuck!” His whine was long and high-pitched, you wanted to hear more of it, but he muffled his cries with a bite on your neck. Normally you would not allow him to bite you, there could always be an exception, and this was one of them.

Especially when he got into a sprint to the finish line, he found hidden strength to bounce you on his cock as much as this lousy position allowed him.

His pelvis was hitting your pulsating clit so gloriously, wet slaps filling your ears, moans and whimpers digging deep into your memory, there was no way you could hold on.

And you did not. Fireworks exploded behind closed eyelids, tingly heat spread from your core to the very tips of your toes, ecstasy consumed every fiber of your being.

Too busy floating on cloud nine to notice Vigilante clenching his teeth around the skin of your neck, creating another vulgar bruise. Too busy to register a loud groan he let out with one last thrust. Too busy to notice ropes of cum coating your spasming walls, filling you to the brim.

His hold no longer supported you when he leaned all his weight on you, chest rising and falling against yours with every deep breath. Being too sensitive to pull out he nestled inside you, basking in the warmth of your cunt.

“You know… You almost got me that one time. After that burglary in the liquor shop,” He murmured against your neck, pressing apologetic kisses to the spot he had bitten. “And I’ve been thinking about it tonight-”

“Where are you going with this?”

“I’m trying to tell you! Don’t interrupt me, dude.” Did he just call you ‘dude’?

“I wanted to say that I realized if I’ll keep fucking you until you can’t walk, you have no chance of catching me.” He pulled away from the crook of your neck and genuinely smiled at your dazzled face.

“Bold of you to assume I’m letting you inside my house ever again. I will remember to close that window next time.” At this point, you started to struggle to keep your head calm.

“Bold of you to assume I don’t know about the spare key in the flowerpot in front of your house.” That motherfucker. Now you have to relocate the key somewhere else.

“Sounds like a threat.”

“More like a promise.”

He pulled out and tucked himself back into his pants without a second thought. You watched with open mouth as he gathered ruined panties and pants while you leaned against the wall with weak legs. He acted so nicely, it made your heart melt. Just a little.

All of this almost made you feel bad for your intentions. You were there to throw him in front of a court and move on to the big league, but Vigilante just enjoyed your presence, your interest, albeit the wrong kind.

“Don’t pretend you hate me,” He handed you clothes and booped your nose with the tip of his pointer. With one last pretty smile, he pulled the mask over his face and made his way to your front door. “See ya later, loser!”

He just left you standing there with his cum running down your legs like it was nothing. Like he didn't just give you the best orgasm you had in a while. Oh God, What have you gotten yourself into…

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rainnycloudstorm · 3 months ago

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Never Say Never

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull) x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Jesse loves himself a cam girl.

Warnings: Reader is a webcam model, noncon, daddy kink, kidnapping, a little blunt force trauma, boot play, bondage, knife play, blood play, blood as lube, sex in a coffin, fingering, overstimulation, creampie, branding.

This was a commission for the lovely @genzisnotokay Thank you for your business!

Gif by @sweeetestcurse

CS: Meet me.

The black letters stretch across your computer screen and your fingers freeze, hovering just above the keyboard. You’re so taken aback that, for a brief moment, you forget you’re on camera. You forget you’re performing. Your practiced smile falters.

CS: C’mon, sweetheart, don’t be like that. You know I won’t bite.

Just like that, you snap back to reality. Your sly grin returns.

‘Tired of only being able to look and not touch, Jesse?’ you type back. On screen, you see the black suit shift, the shoulders raise and lower with what you assume is a huffed laugh. There’s no sound, never is when you video chat with your most generous client, and his face is never in frame, so you do your best to pick up on his body cues.

Seems to be working out for you so far, if your bank account is anything to go by.

CS: I’ll be doing a lot more than touching when I get my hands on you, baby.

You sound pretty confident I’m gonna agree to this, Mister CS.

CS: When have you ever said ‘No’ to me?

There you go, freezing again.

Truly, the list of debauched things you’ve done for him on camera is close to endless. You’ve readily agreed to it all, and he’s certainly not shy about asking. All that green has proven to be a great motivator.

He won’t show you his face though, no matter how many times you ask. You’re sure this is what stops you from agreeing. That, and the survival instincts that keep you from meeting clients in the first place.

CS: It’ll be worth your time, babe.

A number crosses your screen, a number with more zeros than you’ve ever seen in your life.

Inhibitions be damned.

When and where, Daddy?

***

You’re pretty sure you fucked up the moment that horrible chrome skull mask emerges from the darkness, streetlights glinting off its shiny surface.

And you know you fucked up when that baseball bat collides with the side of your skull.

***

The first sensation to return is pain. Bright, splitting agony arcs through your head and blinds you. It brings a broken cry to your chapped lips and has you reaching through silk to cradle your skull.

Awareness trickles in past the pain, sand through an hourglass, the first grains alerting you to the fact you can barely bend your arm. Palms reach, press against soft fabric—silk. There’s resistance just beyond. To your left, to your right, above you, at your back….

All around you.

Pain ebbs just a little, adrenaline dulling it to replace it with fear. Panic rises and snakes up your throat to choke you. You’re trapped in a narrow box, a container of some sort. Trickling sand, more cognizance falls into place.

Not a box.

A coffin.

Your chest rises, the frenzied scream locked and loaded in the back of your throat. Muscles tense, fists prepare to beat the lid open, legs poise to knee and kick and flail. It all comes grinding to a halt with knocking atop the coffin lid.

TAP TAP TA-TAPTAP….TAP TAP.

Shave and a haircut.

Hinges squeal as the lid is thrown open. Light blasts you in the eyes, temporarily reminding you of the throbbing in the side of your head. Cold air rushes into your prison, raising goosebumps across your skin and spilling into your lungs with your inhale.

Oxygen pours into your blood and kickstarts desperate movement. You heave yourself up and over the side of the coffin. Blinking, scrambling, you feel chilly concrete against your palms. Your fingers bump into something sturdy, rubbery, but it’s gone a moment later.

You only realize it was the toe of a boot when the sole stomps down on the side of your face.

Blinding anguish erupts behind your eyes once again and that scream finally has a reason to fly free. Sleep-weakened hands grasp the sides of the shoe, but there isn’t even a hint of give. Above you looms the shadow of a body, silhouetted against the overhead light, the barest hint of chrome glinting in the darkness. Beyond is a room, dark and basically empty save for a few sheets hanging from the ceiling and those blinding floodlights.

Rubber squeaks near your face—the other boot—as weight shifts. The person pinning you to the icy floor crouches. You jolt when words shriek somewhere overhead, as though a terrified woman is speaking with every new word.

I take it back. I think I might bite.

Your stomach drops at the same moment your heart jams itself into your throat. “J-Jesse?! Jesse please, w-why are you doing this?!” Your trembling voice is muffled and distorted by the boot smashing your cheek into the floor.

Give it a kiss and I’ll show you.

Give what a kiss? Your confusion only lasts a moment as the toe of the opposite boot waggles suggestively before your face. You barely hesitate. The sharp, turpentine scent of shoe polish fills your nose as your lips press to the smooth surface.

With tongue, piggy. C’mon, I thought you were a professional.

Abhorrent chemical flavor bathes your tongue as you drag it along the side of Jesse’s boot. Saliva makes it shine brighter than the polish. Your nose wrinkles and you fight back the bile that begs to burn its way up your throat.

Weight lifts from your head and you would cry out in relief if it wasn’t quickly replaced by a gloved hand digging into your hair. You yelp and sob as you’re tugged back to the coffin. The hand on your head shoves you face first over the side, cheek meeting soft lining.

Rattling meets your ears, dulled by the blood rushing there. Chain slides across metal and wood and cool steel encircles your wrist. It clamps down, digs into your flesh. Shifting weight, fingers grappling with your opposite hand. You won’t let this one be restrained—

Viciously, you are yanked upright and a horrible, serrated blade the size of your forearm is brought just before your face. Reflected in its gleaming surface you see the chrome mask and your own wide, frightened eyes.

Click, click, click, click. His thumb types out a message on some kind of cell phone. You can see it in your peripheral, but can’t make out the words.

There’s no need to read as they are shouted at you the moment he’s finished: Fight me like that again and I’ll just cut off the whole fucking arm and be done with it.

A whimper and a hasty nod are your response. You hand over your wrist and it’s swiftly secured by a shackle attached to the other half of the coffin lid. Both sides have been modified, you notice, a D-ring bolted into the wood. Now, your arms stretch out in a T, knees digging into the concrete floor, Jesse and that terrible blade at your back.

‘Comfy?’ asks the screaming phone. Chest heaving, eyes searching for reason, you crane your head over your shoulder in an attempt to predict what’s coming. Unfortunately, you don’t guess ‘knife cutting away your clothes so sloppily it catches your skin more often than fabric.’

Each slice burns with white hot torment, your own sweat adding insult to injury when it drips into your wounds to sting and sting and sting. Mascara streaks down your face, aided by your tears and your throat grows raw with how fervently you shriek and plead.

When Jesse smooths his hands over your gashes to paint your bare skin in scarlet, you realize the cuts were intentional. The cruelty, the pain, the terror are all by design. You quake uncontrollably, fear, and cold, and pain gripping hold and sinking in deep.

‘There’s that pretty pussy you show off to all those strange men online.’ The flat of the blade slaps sharply against your clit and you cry out in shock, back going ramrod straight.

Not quite as wet as I remember though. Maybe she needs a little help, huh?

Two gloved fingers slide across your back to wet themselves in the blood trickling across your flesh. With no warning, they plunge deep into your cunt. You wheeze and try to scoot away, but the coffin edge against your thighs keeps you right where you’re wanted.

Bloody digits pump and curl and massage and circle until you all but forget they’re coated in gore, that you’re bleeding from multiple knife wounds, that you’re chained to a fucking coffin. You clench your eyes shut and do your best to remind yourself what’s happening to you, what’s likely about to happen to you. Then, your hips tip on their own accord and your back arches and your lips part to exhale a quivering moan.

Cum on them, piggy.

“F-Fuck, n-n-nuuuuugh—“

It’s too late. You crash into climax, crimson coated walls gripping those fingers and telling Jesse exactly what he wants to know. Your shaking voice echoes around the room, pitch rising sharply when the fingers slide from your cunt to rub perfect circles into your clit.

‘Cum again and you get my cock,’ screeches the phone. You don’t have a choice. He knows exactly how to get you there, has seen you do precisely this in all the videos you’ve made for him.

You stammer out some garbled protest, but it’s lost in the wake of the pleasure that unravels in your belly. It forces your legs to shut and bows you forward just as though his hand has returned to your head. It’s nearly too much, but that won’t stop the warm, thick length that settles against your entrance.

Now that’s the pussy we all know and love.

One hand returns to your hair and the other holds the knife flat against your lips. This allows you to see your scream fog up the blade when Jesse surges forward to impale you on that cock he promised.

You don’t know why you say it: “D-Daddy, it h-hurts, it’s too-too much…!”

Shaking behind you, rhythmic, like silent laughter. The hand leaves your hair so the phone can reply, ‘That’s why I’m doing it, baby girl.’

Jesse fixes his grip on your locks and renews his efforts tenfold. You can’t talk anymore, not with the way you’re arched, not with how furiously he brutalizes your hole. Every breath becomes a moan as it’s punched from your lungs, every jostle further tweaking your aching shoulders where they’re stretched wide. Shackles dig into the flesh of your wrists until steel turns red.

When Jesse wheezes in your ear, when cold Chrome touches your shoulder, when every inch of his girth throbs to paint you full of him, you cum again. The third orgasm is wrenched from you, painful and tight. Everywhere sings with strained pleasure, every nerve frayed and twitching.

A pathetic whine spills from your mouth and you’re released, allowed to slump over the edge of the coffin, cheek meeting silk once again. Warmth vanishes from your back and boot falls echo through the empty room. Plastic flutters.

Clattering. Squeak. Rushing of air. Click. WHOOSH. Using the last vestiges of your strength, you pull yourself upright. Blearily, you look over your shoulder. Make-up smeared eyes widen.

Jesse lights a torch. The flames reflect eerily across the chrome grin. He shifts to place the torch against the end of a long metal rod.

A branding iron.

Wildly, you yank your arms, jiggle the chains, brace with your legs. You cry and scream and thrash and jerk, anything to free yourself. You only succeed in scooting the coffin a little way across the floor and peeling the skin away from your wrists.

Slowly, ominously, Jesse approaches. Each step is a cacophony as it echoes around the room to fill your ears with panic. The branding iron glows in the dark and acrid smoke fills the air.

You sob and shake your head, feverishly begging, desperately scooting as far away as your bonds and aching limbs will allow. Jesse’s head tilts to the side and he waves the iron teasingly through the air. The phone screen momentarily lights up the mask as he types.

There’s no saying ‘No’ to me now, is there?

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rainnycloudstorm · 3 months ago

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Jack O'Connell as “Remmick” in Sinners (2025)

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rainnycloudstorm · 4 months ago

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Ramsay Bolton*Catch You

Pairing: Ramsay x F!Reader

Summary: Ramsay gives the reader one last chance to escape before becoming his wife

Requested by @darkrose33

Warnings: Ramsay, swearing, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, f! receiving oral, humiliation, rough sex, degradation, chase kink 18+

Word count: 1894

A/N: Ramsay is a terrible terrible person who did terrible terrible things that I do not condone...however Iwan Rheon made him so attractive in a strange way so you cannot blame me for writing smut for him

Masterlist Here

“You can run,” his voice bellowed through the forest as your feet crashed across the ground amongst the trees, “But you can’t hide,”

It was a cat and mouse game. Ramsay wanted you but you couldn’t marry a traitor even if secretly you wanted him too. Any other person would be scared when they heard his boots crunching on branches and leaves as he ran through the forest after you. a weird spark lit up in your stomach.

“If you can make it to the other side, you’ll be a free woman,” he said, candlelight illuminating the chamber that had become your cell. He’d never laid a hand on you, but gods did he want to.

“And if I don’t?” you asked.

Ramsay smirked, lightly holding your jaw in his hand despite your grimace, “Once I catch you, you won’t want anyone else,”

Leaves and twigs scrapped your face as you ran through the trees, jumping over logs, and twisting around roots. You could hear him getting closer and your heart pounding in your ears. Another log jumped another corner turned then suddenly you had to stop and catch yourself. A lake the width of two men’s heights stretched across you and freedom.

Not even a direwolf could clear the jump. Perhaps there’d be a narrower crossing point further up but how long did you have before he caught up? Your head spun as you tried to look for an option. You heard his laugh running through the wind. Without any other option you began to attempt to climb the nearest tree.

Your hand gripped the branch and you managed to only get a few feet off the ground when your hand began to slip. Trying to find another spot to grab, the branch holding your foot snapped beneath it, your body moved to cling to the tree, but you began to slip. You yelped when you felt yourself falling or perhaps it was from the hand that suddenly was on your hips.

“Caught you,” Ramsay smirked, not nearly as out of breath as you. His strong hands dug into your hips, “You can let go now,” he said.

There was no point trying to run. Ramsay guided you down the tree, hands still clung into your hips as your back was against him. With your feet now on the ground, Ramsay stepped forward pushing you into the tree and his front into your back. You gasped at the feeling of his hard on pressing into you. “What now?” you asked, refusing to look back.

“Now,” Ramsay said as he leaned his mouth down to your ear, his breath fanning over your skin, “I’m going to fuck your tight little hole right in this fucking forest,”

“Anyone could walk by,” your eyes widened despite the excited shiver that went down your spin.

Ramsay spun you around before pressing your back harshly into the bark, deliberately pressing his cock into you as he trapped you between his arms, “Good,” he said, his lips hoovering over yours, “That way they know what’s mine,”

With that his lips crashed onto yours in a deep and messy kiss. His hands moved to grope your chest over your dress. Ramsay groaned into the kiss when he felt your lips move back. You weren’t even sure why you felt a tingle in your stomach. This was so wrong. But gods did his lips feel good.

You gasped when he bit down harshly on your bottom lip, whimpering slightly as he moved his tongue in. his fingers trailed the edges of your neckline before gripping the fabric and pulling it down. You shivered as the cold forest air ran over your nipples that instantly hardened at the cold. Ramsay moaned when he felt your skin under his touch and grinned when he felt your hardened buds. Soft moans left your own lips as he began to twist them gently at first. Then when he pinched them suddenly you whined as a hollow feeling started in your stomach.

“Look at you already so desperate,” Ramsay’s breath was warm against your face in contrast with the forest chill, “So desperate for me,” there was a glint in his eyes as he stared you down, “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” Your face flushed and you tried to look away. Ramsay growled as he grabbed your jaw harshly, gripping it tightly in his fingers as he forced you to look him in the eye, “I asked you a question,” he said lowly, “Now answer me,” his fingers dug in deeper.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered out as you looked into his eyes which seemed to darken when you spoke.

“Yes what?” he said as he pressed himself even closer to you, no space left between you and him or the tree that dug into your spine.

You whined lightly at the feeling. Despite everything you wanted nothing more than what he was offering, “I want you to fuck me my lord,” you managed to say just above a whisper.

Ramsay smirked at your whimpering. He dropped your jaw from his grip only to begin hiking up your skirt, “All you had to do was ask,” he said as he dropped down to his knees, gazing up at your cunt, “Look how wet you are,” Ramsay said, letting your skirts fall to cover his body as he positioned himself by your cunt.

You stared off into the forest as his hot breath fanned against your wet pussy. You gasped when you felt his hands grab the flesh of your hips under your dress. His nose nudges against you and a whimper left your throat. “Please,” you whined without knowing if he could even hear you.

Finally, Ramsay gave in, and you were thankful for the tree to stabilise you as he licked up your folds. Ramsay did not pause for even a moment as his tongue began to lap up your juices. You didn’t want to moan. Anyone could come past. But when his tongue ran circles over your clit you couldn’t stop them. You felt hollow when he moved away from your clit but full as his tongue began to dive into you, licking you perfectly. Your hands were gripping bark trying to keep yourself standing as his nose nuzzled into your clit.

A knot was building in your stomach as Ramsay worked his wonders with his tongue. His hands squeezed and your hips, moving back to feel the soft flesh of your ass. His hands groping your body and his tongue licking your juices made the knot tighten. Suddenly you felt your whole-body tensing, your legs locking his head in place. “Fuck,” a long whine ripped from your throat as you felt a wave rush through your body. You couldn’t stop yourself moaning his name as you came around his tongue.

When he reappeared from between your legs his face was slick with your juices and a smirk on his lips, “I think you woke the whole forest with that one darling,” he said as his hand moved to grip your throat, “I think I should punish you for that,”

“Please,” you whimpered but the idea of him punishing you just made you ache for him.

“I think,” he said as one of his hands worked on his trousers, “I should fuck you right up against this tree,” he said as his cock sprung free. Without thinking you looked down at it and stared with awe as he held his cock in his hand, “What do you think?” he asked, turning his eyes back to yours.

You nodded but Ramsay squeezed your throat. You couldn’t just nod. “Please,” you whimpered, “Please do it. make me yours,” your hands moved to hold onto his arms, squeezing his hard biceps, “Fuck me, please I’ll be good,” you begged.

Ramsay’s eyes were filled with lust, “Such a good whore,” he said as he began to pull your skirts back up, lining himself up with your entrance, “That’s what you want right? To be my whore?”

“Yes,” you whined which turned into a gasp when you felt his tip began to push in.

Ramsay groaned as he slowly began to push his cock into you. once the head was in, he paused for a moment, and you felt yourself adjust to the burn as he stretched you out. However, he did not wait long before he suddenly began to thrust into you, his whole length diving into you and filling you up.

At first you gasped, a pain starting at first, but the pain ripped through your body like a wave of pleasure. Ramsay gripped your hips as he thrust into you and admired the tears falling from your eyes. “You look so pretty like this,” he growled sending shivers down your spine.

The pain was now wholly replaced by pleasure as he thrust into you, with each thrust your back hitting into the tree. Curse words fell from your lips in a mix of moans of whimpers. Ramsay groaned and growled as he fucked you, his lips falling onto the skin of your neck to suck dark hickeys into the delicate flesh. His hands moved from your hips to your still exposed chest. A wave of pleasure ran through you as he began to pinch and squeeze your nipples. Your walls clenched around him, cumming again for the second time around him. Your moans filling the forest like a symphony to Ramsay’s ears.

But it did not stop him. If anything, his thrusts got harder when he felt you squeezing around him, “Do it again,” Ramsay said, pressing his forehead against yours. whines of protest came out, but he did not care, “Do it again,” he growled, one of his hands moving to grip your throat as the other pinched hard on your nipple, “I wanna watch you cum over and over and over,” he said, thrusting with each word.

Even if you wanted to protest you couldn’t as the pressure built again. He let go of your throat if only to shove his fingers in your mouth, swirling them around your tongue before moving them to rub sloppy circles onto your clit. Your moans got muffled when he slammed his mouth onto yours. the way your moans vibrated into the kiss made his cock start to twitch.

When he felt your walls clamp around him again, he almost spilled right then. He pulled back from the kiss to watch your face contort in pleasure, the orgasm ripping through your body like a tsunami crashing. His thrusts got sloppy as he tried to ride it out but when you moaned his name, he couldn’t stop himself. Ramsay grunted as his seed began to spill, leaning onto the tree behind you to steady himself as he drained himself into you. his lips hovered over yours as he came, and you closed the gap for a needy light kiss.

When he pulled back, removing his cock from you, he used his hands to keep you steady. It was like trying to stand on ice for the first time as your legs ached from the orgasms. “You caught me,” you said, panting as you recovered from the ordeal.

Ramsay grinned down at you as he caught his own breath, “And don’t think im ever gonna let you run again,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy

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rainnycloudstorm · 4 months ago

Note

Hey, so I really enjoyed the Ramsey x servant reader and was wondering if you could do a part 2 ? :)

Ramsay Bolton*Bath

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x f!servant!reader

Word count: 1277

Warnings: teasing, power imbalance technically, dom ramsay, bath sex, grinding, nipple play, biting, hickies, marking, use of a knife but not featured, orgasm, smut 18+

Part two of How Far Would You Go but can be read alone

Masterlist Here

“You can go,” Ramsay said, flicking his hand for you to leave after you had finished drawing his bath.

“No,” you said simply, moving instead to sit on his plush armchair in front of the roaring firing. A few weeks ago, the idea of telling your lord no would have seemed far riskier but this was just the game. Yes, the game you and Ramsay Bolton had been playing for the past few weeks. Sometimes you listened to him, fetched his water and shined his boots. Other times turned into a cat and mouse game.

“That was an order,” Ramsay said, turning on his heels with a lifted eyebrow.

You noticed his gaze from the corner of your eye but made no move to turn, “That’s a shame,” you said, letting yourself enjoy the heat from the flames, “Oh well you’ll just have to make do,”

Ramsay was silent, walking over to you till he stood directly in front of you. this had scared you before but now you knew it was all an act. Even the way he roughly grabbed your jaw, tilting your head up to face him, it was all an act. “I am your lord,” he said cooly.

“And you’re blocking my view,” you added calmly, moving your head back to sink back into the soft fabric, “My lord,” you added with a sweet smile. “Feel free to bathe my lord. It may ease your mind,”

Ramsay’s eyes were locked on yours but after a few seconds of no hesitation in your eyes he walked away silently. You did your best to keep your eyes on the flames, occasionally stealing a glance of Ramsay as he slowly began to shed his layers. You almost laughed at the way he deliberately threw his clothing all around the room, knowing it would make your job just a tad harder.

You heard the sound of bath water splashing, hitting the floor gently as Ramsay sighed. You glanced over to see him in the steamy water, eyes closed as his shoulders began to relax. A few moments of comfortable silenced past before you decided to stand.

Ramsay only allowed his eyes to look at you briefly as you moved to sit behind his bath on a chair you’d taken from his desk. As you sat you noticed the only thing, he had left on the table beside his bath was a glass of wine and a single dagger. His eyes had fluttered closed by the time he felt your hands slip over his shoulders. You leaned forward, placing a soft lingering kiss to his temple as you began to rub his tense shoulders.

You could tell from his soft groans he was enjoying this meanwhile this gave you the perfect view of his toned arms and shoulders that your nails had dug into on so many nights. “You are a terrible servant,” Ramsay groaned as you worked out a knot in his shoulder.

“I know,” you smirked, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “But we both know you like it this way,”

Before you could come up with a witty remark or another tease Ramsay’s head had snapped to the side, his lips crashing onto yours while his hand went to hold the back of your head. You gasped into the kiss, feeling water splash you as Ramsay’s tongue slipped in at the first opportunity. The kiss was messy, but gods did it feel so good. So good you didn’t notice how his arms shifted till you gasped as your body got pulled into the water.

You only wore a light dress, part of the reason you’d been so inclined to stay by the fire, so when your body submerged into the water the fabric clung to your curves like a second skin. “What are you doing!” you half shrieked but Ramsay’s hands were already on your waist pulling you to straddle his lap in the tub.

“we both know you like it,” Ramsay smirked as he mimicked your words. His strong hands pulled you in, pressing your chest against his bare one as your lips met again. He let his hands wander from your waist till they reached your neckline.

Fabric tearing rang through the room and you gasped as you looked down at your now exposed chest. Before you could chastise your lord, his lips were already sucking on your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud making you moan. his hand found your free breast, squeezing it harshly before he began his assault on the other perked bud.

Your hips began to buck, grinding into Ramsay’s lap as you noticed his hard cock beneath you. moans and splashing water were the only sounds in the room as you gripped onto Ramsay’s hair, tugging at the strands making him groan. The vibrations shot up your body sending chills down your spine. You could feel yourself growing wetter as you rubbed yourself against his cock, your clit rubbing against it perfectly.

Your hands tried to pull the skirts of your dress, but the fabric clung to your skin. Before you could even as Ramsay’s hand dropped your breast and instead grabbed the dagger. You gasped when you felt the tip of the blade graze your skin as he cut the dress from your figure, tossing it out of the bath. “You ruined my dress,” you gasped, looking at the sopping mess on the floor.

“Good,” Ramsay smirked, tossing the dagger to the floor with a loud clatter. His hands found your ass, pulling you back into his lap properly, “You’re much better without it anyhow,” he muttered as his lips began sucking dark marks into your neck.

His hands grabbed your hips tight, pulling them to made you grind down on his length which you soon took over allowing his attention to move from your ass to your nipples. You gasped as he pinched the buds, moaning as he began to roll them between his fingers.

“Such a good little whore,” Ramsay cooed against your skin.

“’M not a whore,” you tried to say but it came out as more of a moan.

Ramsay tutted, kissing the hollow of your throat, “Those pretty noises say differently sweetheart,” he teased, kissing up your neck till he landed back on your lips.

You whined into the kiss as you felt a burning feeling spread in your belly, your hips faltering as you tried to keep a good pace. One of his hands moved to your hip, gripping it tightly as he helped you keep the momentum going. His lips trailed kisses back down your jaw, to your neck, leaving a few scattered bites over your skin till he finally took your nipple in his mouth again.

you could already feel your orgasm approaching when Ramsay bit your nipple gently, sending shock waves down your spine as you felt your peak arrive. Your fingers gripped his shoulders tightly, drawing slight blood as your nails sank into his flesh. It only made Ramsay more determined to keep you as he watched you fall apart on top of him. “Look at you,” he said, pushing the hair from your face as you started to come down from your high, “Such a mess already and I’ve barely even started with you,”

you were panting, eyes glazed as you glanced to the floor. Your eyes widened at the mess surrounding the bath, “I am not cleaning this,” you stated firmly, eyes finally moving back to meet his.

His eyes had grown dark, a twinkle in the back of his gaze, “Oh no dear. I have far more important tasks for you tonight,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy @valeskafics

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rainnycloudstorm · 4 months ago

Text

Sandor Clegane*Brat

Pairing: sandor x f!princess!reader

Kinktober Day twenty-three: brat taming with Sandor Clegane – after growing sick of a princess’s bratty attitude Sandor decides to teach her how to behave

Word count: 2147

Warnings: brat taming, secret relationship, teasing, reader being a brat, jamie slut shaming, fingering, p in v sex, rough sex, spanking, degrading, swearing, smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Kinktober List Here

Your footsteps were somehow both silent and quicker than his horses, something Sandor loathed as he chased about after you. being your personal guard was apparently an honour however the past two years of this honour made him consider if locking princesses in a tower was still socially acceptable.

While sure you had your moments of being tolerable, sometimes even pleasant, to the giant they called your guard dog, right now was not one of them. Usually, he appreciated your sarcastic remarks to your younger brother Joffrey, agreeing with most of your snippy quips, however today it had led to a fight between you both.

This then led to you storming around the castle, with Sandor falling behind, then to a fight with your mother which Sandor had to listen to through a door despite being absolutely starving, then when he could finally go and eat you decided to go on a walk through the forest unannounced and he had to track you down and bring you back.

“Try not to get lost again princess,” Sandor said through gritted teeth, trying not to let his stomach grumble.

You rolled your eyes as you sat on your love seat in front of the fire. “I was never lost. You just couldn’t find me,”

Sandor rolled his eyes as he went to leave however Jamie fucking Lannister decided to stop him. “The queens requested for you to stay in this room and guard the princess,”

“What about my fucking break?” Sandor spat back, not having the same gentle voice as your uncle.

“Well, it will have to wait. There are Dornish ambassadors riding into court and we cannot risk her getting…lost again,” Jamie said, and you couldn’t help stifling a laugh making Sandor want to fling you out of a window. Jamie leaned in closer, whispering to Sandor and getting his slimy breath all over him, “Prince Oberyn is coming, and we cannot risk her sullying her reputation,” he said however only Sandor was able to hear him.

“But me staying in her room all night is fine?”

Jamie looked the hound up and down before putting on his most cunty smile, “Don’t worry. I don’t think anyone will question your activities. Goodnight Clegane, best behaviour princess,” Jamie called to you before leaving, the door slamming behind him.

Sandor Groaned as he began to strip off his cloak. Like fuck was he gonna be kitted up all night in this. “What did he whisper?” you asked, reaching over to grab a grape. Sandor couldn’t tell if the way you popped it in his mouth made him more hungry, horny, or fucking angry.

“Prince Oberyn is coming to court,” Sandor said as he tossed his cloak on a chair, “So I’ve to guard you all night so you don’t go falling in his bed,”

Most women would gasp or swoon or deny the accusation, but you just barked out a laugh. It was another one of your few redeeming qualities in Sandors eyes. “How much of a whore does he think I am?” you joked, picking up your wine. Sandor stomped over to the table, snatching the wine from your grip before plopping down in a chair. “Hey!”

“Hay is for horses,” he grumbled, gulping down the wine, “You’ve been a fucking brat all day, the least you owe me is a drink,”

“My, my, swearing in front of a lady, a princess no less,” you tsked at him as Sandor began to unbuckle his armour, “Not very honourable of you ser,”

“I’m no ser,” he said, discarding the battered metal as he reached for the next piece, “And besides I’ve done far less honourable things to you than curse in front of you,” this was of course his favourite quality in his princess. Even when you annoyed him to his core you were still the best fuck he’s ever had. “Fuck you’ve said worse things than I have,”

“Like what?”

“You know what,” he chuckled, beginning to undo his breast plate which would leave him in just a shirt and trousers. “You and that dirty mouth of yours,” he said, thinking back to all the thoughts and whimpers you’d moaned in his ear.

He did his best not to meet your eyes as they travelled down his frame, “Watcha gonna do about it?” however sent a spark down his spine. Prince Oberyn was not the one they should be worried about sullying your reputation.

Sandor dropped the metal breast plate, ignoring the clatter in made as it hit the floor as he moved to stand in front of you. his hand gripped your jaw, easily holding your whole face as he made you look him in the eye, “Don’t test me princess. You’re already on thin fucking ice,”

“Why would I want to be on ice when I could be on your…” you said, eyes trailing down his frame with a fiery spark.

He growled as his lips smashed into yours for a brief kiss that knocked the air out of your lungs. He broke the kiss, pushing your frame back into the love seat making you gasp. Within seconds his boots were off, and his arm was around your waist, hosting you over his shoulder making you squeal. Your back hit the soft bed as you desperately tried to sit up, but he was already on top of you.

“How expensive is this dress?” he asked, his fingers trailing the neckline.

“Your annual salary,” you replied and gasped when a tear ripped through the air, “Sandor!” you gasped as the cold air washed over your bare chest, your nipples perking at the feeling.

He’d ripped it just enough to be able to pull it off your body without having to hassle with any ties or laces, “Please as if you wont just pout and get a new one,” he scoffed.

“I don’t pout!” you objected, now feeling more exposed under his hungry eyes.

Sandor laughed, his eyes moving from your tits back to your face, “All you do is pout princess. All fucking day,” he said, his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb tracked over your pouted lip, “And all day I’ve been having to look at these fucking lips,” he said, his thumb prying open your mouth so he could stick his thumb inside, pressing down on your tongue, “and think about how much better they’d look around my cock,”

His words sent a shiver down your spine that didn’t go unnoticed by Sandor. “Is someone excited?” he asked, his hand gripping your thigh before slipping between them. His fingers trailed up your slit and you felt his chest rumble as he chuckled, “So wet for me already,” he said, his smile dropping for a moment, “Suck,” he commanded.

Instantly you complied, sucking on his thumb and trying not to whine as he rubbed slow circles on your clit, “Good girl,” his head dipped, moving to kiss along your collar bones as his thumb slipped from your mouth. He rubbed the spit over your bottom lip before his hand moved to tilt your jaw up, giving him space to kiss softly up your neck.

You bit your lip, slight whimper escaping as he worked on your bundle of nerves. When his fingers slipped away you whined but gasped when you felt him push two in, “Cmon don’t act like you cant take it,” he chastised, nipping at your skin enough to make you gasp but never to leave a mark, “I’ve seen you take far bigger,” he said, grinding his bulge against your leg to emphasis what was to come.

His fingers began to curl slowly inside as his thumb rested over your clit. When you whined again, this time louder and enough to make his cock twitch in his trousers, he moved his other mouth to clamp over your mouth, “Quiet,” he grumbled, curling his fingers deeper making you moan against his hand, “You know the rules princess,”

You nodded, meeting his eyes for a moment before they shut as his fingers began to brush against a familiar spot. You could feel your peak soon arriving but when you felt him pull his fingers out not even his hand could fully cover the loud whine you made. “Gods you really are a desperate thing,” he chastised, his hands moving to squeeze your hips tightly.

Before you could protest, he’d flipped you on your stomach, hand coming down on your ass leaving a stinging slap. “Hey!” you whined only to be met with another slap.

“Behave,” he chastised, keeping one hand on your ass, fondling it as the other moved to push down his breeches, “Maybe if you behave I’ll let you finish around my cock,” he said, gripping it with one hand and with the other forcing you onto your knees, ass presented perfectly for him, “Bet you’d like that wouldn’t you? me fucking you silly like some whore,” he said, running his tip up and down your wet cunt making you whine.

Instead of responding you grabbed a pillow, moving to lay your face in it when Sandor suddenly grabbed your hair, “I asked you a fucking question,” he growled, his tip pushing in slightly as your back arched.

“Yes,” you stuttered out.

“Yes what?” he asked, pulling your hair tighter, pushing slightly further in.

“Yes, I want your cock please I need it,” you whined, your hips trying to move further back onto to be stopped by Sandor, “Please I’ll be good,”

Sandor let go of your hair, your body lurching forward as you fell back into the pillow, “Wonder when I’ve heard that before,” he grunted, his hands moving to squeeze the soft flesh of your ass refusing to push his tip any further in.

“I promise,” you whined, gripping at the pillow, “I’ll behave I promise I-fuck,” you whined as you felt his cock sink further in.

Sandor hissed as he felt your cunt squeeze around him as he pushed his way in till he felt himself fully inside. He left one more slap to your ass, smirking at the way you bit the pillow instead of protesting at the stinging slap, before he started to set a steady pace.

His thrusts were slow and precise at first, making your whole-body lurch forward as he fucked you and your fingers tightened in the sheets. He could hear the stifled whines you let out and reached forward to grab your hair once more, this time gentler as he turned your head till the pillow muffled your mouth. Before you could question him, you moaned into the fabric as his pace began to quicken.

His slow thrusts had turned into heavy pounds that shook your body and made a knot grow in your stomach. His spare hand moved to squeeze your hip one more time before slipping forward to rub fast circles onto your clit. His grunts and groans were like music to your ears as your legs began to quake but falling was not an option.

Sandor cursed at the way your cunt squeezed around his cock, sucking in breath as he screwed his eyes shut. Despite how hard it was for him not to finish right there he had a job to do. He bit his lip, opening his eyes to appreciate the sight beneath him.

He could hear your muffled moans through the pillow and felt the way your body jerked and squeezed around him. “Aw is my little princess gonna cum?” he teased, his thrusts growing harder, “does she deserve to cum around my cock?” he asked but your response was muffled. Sandor pulled your hair, lifting your mouth up from the pillow, “I asked you a question,”

“Please sir,” you moaned like music to his ears, “Fuck please let me please,” you begged.

“Do it then,” he grunted, shoving your face back into the pillow, “Cum around my cock like a good whore,” his words were all it took to push you over the edge as your peak crashed around you.

However, this was not going to make him stop. Instead, his thrusts became harder and less precise as he fucked you mercilessly chasing his high while you rode yours out with eyes rolled back into your skull. It didn’t take long for him to feel the familiar twitch and suddenly pull out. With only two more jerks his seed spilled across your ass as his eyes screwed shut. “Fuck,” he gasped once he felt he could breathe again. Gently he moved his arms to lay you down on the bed.

You were too busy catching your breath to notice him searching for something till you felt him running a damp cloth over your ass to clean you up. “Still think I’m a brat?” you asked, still trying to catch your breath.

“Fuck yes. But you’re my brat,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy @valeskafics

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rainnycloudstorm · 4 months ago

Note

How about...

Sandor, or anyone of your choosing, enjoying his breakfast in bed; already warm and ready and right next to him. Of course, breakfast in bed really means a heavy arm across your stomach and his hot mouth on your sticky cunny, licking into your heat and forcing you to cum over and over- but he's as thankful that you're under him and squirming as he'd be if you'd made him a full course meal lmfao

As always,

-🐏non

oh i ate this UP. (pun intended)

table of contents; oral sex, face-sitting (i changed it cause i’m a slag), implied cum eating (he ate it all up).

it’s essential that a man of sandor’s magnitude breaks his fast before a days work. it takes a strong man to bear such armour all day every day. he needs a good, nourishing meal to last him until he returns home in the evenings.

“fuckin’ hells, woman.” he wrenches you back down onto his face. “stop movin’.”

his irritation is muffled by the weight of your thighs, his hands hooked around them. goosebumps ripple over your skin when his tongue lathers you again, knuckles whitening as you cling to the headboard. “gods, sandor— i’m going to suffocate you. . .”

“death by cunt.” he mutters against your engorged slit, ravishing you like a man starved. “guess i’m dying a happy man, then.”

he presses you against his face, inhaling like he’s coming up for air. hot embarrassment stains your skin, but arousal soon replaces the shame when the tip of his nose — crooked from so many breaks — bumps against your clit, his tongue swirling at your entrance.

your hips stammer, the fleshy hood of your mound catching his nose’s wide bridge. you both groan and his fingers curl into you tighter, tongue delving hungrily. then he retracts it, dragging the wet muscle backwards to slot between your swollen lips and toward your pearly bead of nerves.

his dark eyes flit up, wilted and languid. he’s been dining on you for some time; lapping at you and slurping from you and swallowing every drop. “look at me,” he orders, gruff and slightly slurred. you might be the only thing he drinks from more often than tankards.

with a breathless, barely-conscious moan, you cast your foggy gaze downward. your hands drop from the headboard to fist at his hair, his mouth pursing around your little bud as soon as your eyes meet.

you jolt against his face, the velcro roughness of his beard scratching at your slick. he alternates between suckling and pinching your clit to licking his way down the crevice of your folds and into your puckered little hole.

a man can soon grow sick of steak pie and venison casserole, but no man could ever sicken at the chance to eat cunt.

and to yours sandor clegane has certainly succumbed. maybe he’s running a little late, but no matter. a man can grow sick of the king, too. and as big a cunt the king may be, he doesn’t taste near as sweet as yours.

you mewl, rising on your knees when it all gets a little much.

“sit down.” he growls again, forcing you flush against his tongue. “and i didn’t tell you to look away.”

you didn’t realise your eyes had closed, too consumed by his mouth and its hunger. you drift in and out of a daze — eyes watering and stomach contracting. everything tingles, the room is stuffy, your limbs don’t feel like they’re part of you.

he’ll have you cum another four, maybe five times before he’s satisfied his appetite, leaving for work with your scent on his breath. and you’ll be just as he left you, ready to serve him supper.

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rainnycloudstorm · 4 months ago

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nsfw sandor hc's ;)

my masterlist

a/n: i could go on for 4982 hours but here are some hc's

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ •

sandor's dick size is intimidating, and he knows it. he doesn’t care if it’s a struggle for you to take all of him, he wants you to feel every inch. “c'mon, take it.” he growls, his voice low and commanding.

his pace is brutal. his hips snap into you with harsh force. he growls under his breath "keep up." as he watches you fall apart beneath him, pride gleaming in his eyes. every moment is punishing and he takes satisfaction in your struggle to keep up.

he isn’t gentle when it comes to holding you in place. he likes to restrain you, whether it’s pinning you down with his weight or tying you up to keep you still while he takes control.

sandor’s pet names in bed are blunt, rough, and possessive. he might call you “whore,” “brat,” or simply “mine.” using them to remind you of your place under him, but always with a tone of possession, not pure degradation. It’s about control, raw and unapologetic, but with a hint of twisted affection.

sandor’s hands WILL find your throat during sex. he enjoys the feeling of power that comes with it. his large hand wrapping around your throat, pounding into you hard, while your ankles dangle over his shoulders. the way you respond and struggle to his grip, HE LOVES IT.

he likes it when you can him sir, no explanation needed.

sandor is the type to pull you by your hair, guiding your head to where he wants it. whether it's pulling you up to meet his lips or holding it to fuck into you deeper. TEEHEE

this man has a definite size kink. he loves seeing how you struggle to take all of him, feeling every inch as he pushes deep. the size difference excites him, he’s often rough about it, "gonna ruin this pretty cunt". while teasing your pussy with his dick 😊, growling with satisfaction when you take him fully.

foreplay? not his style. he’s a man who’s used to battle, and he approaches intimacy the same way, with an intense, single-minded focus. his hands roam roughly over your body, and his impatience shows as he growls, “quit squirming, i’m not stopping ‘til i’m done with you.”

sandor’s filthy mouth never shuts up, even when he’s got you gasping for air. “what, done already?” he growls, lips curling into a wicked smirk. “didn’t think you’d fold like some godsdamned weakling.” but he doesn’t stop, hell no. he keeps going, pushing you harder, dragging out every sound he can until you’re shaking and there’s nothing left to give.

sandor’s sex-drive is relentless, fueled by years of frustration, rage, and an almost obsessive need to feel in control. when his temper flares, his desire to fuck becomes almost primal. he’s not one for waiting around, "stay still," he doesn't care if you can keep up, he just needs to release the anger and he'll make you feel every bit of it

sandor’s aftercare is all about presence, not words. afterwards, he pulls you close with a firm, possessive grip, his hand brushing over the marks he’s left, bruises and scratches. his silence speaks louder than words, and he stays close, watching over you.

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rainnycloudstorm · 4 months ago

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what a dork (meant with love)

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rainnycloudstorm · 4 months ago

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I think it’s worth a shot guys

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rainnycloudstorm · 4 months ago

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Love at First Bite [Beneath the Eternal Moonlight]

❤︎ Remmick (Sinners) x female reader ❤︎ NSFW 18+ for graphic smut/descriptions of sex, dubcon, vampirism/death ❤︎ When he goes "shhh, don't cry," in the movie, all bloody and vamped out, he's actually saying that to me when he shoves himself inside with no warning or preparation and expects me to take it all (and I do gladly). Anyway this was supposed to be straight porn but idk when to shut the hell up

Thick strings of drool hung from his open, puffy lips that peeled back to reveal a mouthful of jagged teeth. You stared at them from the corner of your widened eye, sipping tiny breaths that caught on the choked sobs raking through you. Despite this, no tears rolled down your cheeks as he pushed your face away and revealed your throat. His claws cupping your skull, you could feel their sharpness, crooked knuckles, and long nails keeping you from squirming too much while he grazed his nose down the side of your jaw and sniffed you like a true beast. The snarling growl that came from him was no different, pure animal--as animal and instinctual as the stiffness tightening the fabric of his high-waisted trousers. His own breath ragged, as he curled over you and trapped you beneath his weight, you felt his knee beneath your thigh, and the gentle rub of his hips to chase this friction.

"I bet you're just as sweet as nectar, darlin'," he purred. His voice was no longer the gentle baritone it had been, but gravelly and dark. "Yeah... Like summer wine, too..." Your eyes squeezed shut, and you flinched at the softness of his lips against your throat, awaiting the searing sting of his bite. Your hands twisted in his collar with this anticipation--yet, when another groan escaped him, this time you felt his hips jerk much more purposefully. You were shaking, teeth clattering with the motion, and he nuzzled you, closing his mouth this time to ask, "mmmm'y scared?"

Your fingers slipped down his torso at the same time you slowly, carefully turned your face, which prompted the moving of his fingers to clasp around your throat. Still keeping you pinned and subdued, you felt the cool dampness of the sweat against his temple, dripping from shiny black curls, and wriggled your hips up into his while following the tension of his abdomen downward until your palm cupped the bulge of an erection that made you nearly sob again. His voice strained, this time as he exhaled, "I promise, y'won't 'ven be able to tell the difference b'tween... the hurt--and ecstasy."

His clasp around your neck stopped the sound from coming out, tightening at the same time you began stroking him. His cheek to yours, when you caught his eye again, this time something more human burned in them, no less hungry. A side grin reminding you of the predator trapping you, your gut twisted with the familiarity of your own arousal, seemingly sparked by the fear that he caused to trickle down your spine. But maybe he could smell it perfuming you even before the chase had commenced. You couldn't have denied it; the sight of him lurking far enough away from you, although you hadn't been sure how long he'd been there, was close enough that your noticing of his shadow was imminent and intoxicating. You knew he was dangerous the second your heart had skipped a beat and your gaze had locked with his, a glint in it from the very beginning telling you he would taste you. Tonight. Of course, your thoughts had focused on a grainy picture of your fingers webbing through his hair, your legs thrown over the broad slope of his strong shoulders as his spine rolled like a cat and he buried his face in the tenderness of your cunt, but the desire which nestled in the pit of your stomach from the picture hadn't entirely ceased, even now. If anything, as your hands fumbled with the button of his pants and you began hurriedly trying to free him from the barriers of his clothing, it had grown fat, slimy and sick in you, as sick as he, who shivered and cursed under his breath with the whimpery, pathetic voice of a man victimized by the intensity of his own cravings.

When he sat back on his knees, your hands clung to the waist of his pants despite your shoulders thumping to the ground. Your eyes sweeping down his sturdy figure, his claws sliced into your skin as he pushed the skirt of your dress up to your hips, then shoved the fabric out of the way further once your hands traveled up his abdomen to his chest and he helped you sit up into his lap, using your arms before wrapping one arm around your middle and grunting once you were seated on top of him. It was as much of a fight as the one that had knocked you beneath him, his tongue following the trickling beads of blood where he'd accidently cut you while your hips lifted toward his stomach and you successfully yanked the stiffened silken flesh of his cock from his trousers. It was hot to the touch, leaking precum and blushed red from the friction of his previous dry humping. Agitated and sensitive, you pressed the delicate foreskin down to reveal more of his tip before pressing the heat to your swollen clit, both of you gasping from the contact.

Remmick--yes, that's his name, you recalled, shot one hand to pinch the nape of your neck and cradled the back of your head once more. This time, you let the weight of your skull crane your neck and winced from the protrusion of his girth stretching open your entrance. The muscles of your walls tightened with fluttering contractions that made your hips twinge and your thighs burn. You sniffled, for the first time a tear leaking from the corner of your eye as you rolled your hips slowly, leaning back into his forearm for stability.

"Shit, you're jus' as hungry as me," Remmick chuckled, his chest rising and falling heavy as his feet kicked out in front of him and he cleared his throat, his eyebrows turned upward before he licked his lips and felt your whole body press into his like a child's. His core tightened to keep him from falling back, and a fresh sheen of sweat dripped from his hairline. "Fuh-fuck-"

Your forehead resting in the crook of his shoulder, you turned your head to the side and mewled like a kitten when arching your lower back, keeping him deep inside with slow, heavy digging motions of your pelvis. Remmick nearly forgot about his need to feed, and his initial desire to drain you for the sole purpose of satisfying it. Now, the sweet ache of his gums throb of his canines matched the gooey, warm, heavy pulse of his cock, and with his other hand caressing the swell of your breast, when he finally sunk his teeth into the side of your throat and latched on like a child himself, gulping down the cherry red that filled his cheeks until you felt it gush down your chest just the same as your pussy melted over his length and could feel a mix of both of your pleasures leaking between your thighs and soaking the front of his pants, he shortly after unlatched and lapped at the wound, messily, groaning, while you kept on bouncing with your fists pressing into his stomach. You wouldn't have long, now, till your teeth came in. Your blood was already filled with secrets. He could see the flash of all the fantasies you had had upon first seeing him. His jaw craned open with a flex of his mandible and the strain of his neck as more images flooded him, all of your secrets, your memories coating his tongue. You were hungry, more so than he suspected by the look of you. Still, his raspy voice came out hushed, and he reached for your wrists to guide your touch to his throat. Your teeth were still flat and you were growing slower, more tired in your movements as your veins filled with his poison and your mind clouded from the transition before you fell asleep and would awake wholly his (during which he had no plans on leaving the warmth of your cunt), but he still wanted you to bite him, now.

"Bite me as hard as you can, darlin', go on," He could feel the nearing strength of his climax, the heat of your blood in his belly almost making him nauseous from the yanking tension. Both of his arms wrapping back around you, he found his claws gone, replaced by thick fingers massaging the roundness of your ass as you pressed the curve of it back into his palms. For a moment, he could feel himself as just a man. "Taste me, please-"

Your face hot, pleasure rippling through you faster than the pain, your limbs buzzing from the blood loss, you don't know what got stirred in you, but your tongue pressed to his pulse, and you bit down as hard as you could. When that didn't work, you began chewing--tearing at him, twisting his skin and feeling it start to squish and crunch before the black blood came. It was rotten blood, grave blood, but it tasted even more potent than he smelled of what had caught your attention even before you laid eyes on him. Both of you had smelled each other before finding the source of that scent. Remmick cried out as the pain burst and blistered through him, huffing, and fell back. You pushed his face away the same way he had done to you before, flaring your nostrils and biting at him again until the flesh came easier. You didn't just drink his blood, you swallowed the meat in your mouth and felt his hands squeezing your hips as you sped your thrusts up and claimed the beast as much as he had made you his own. And you wouldn't stop until after he'd popped like a hot yolk inside you twice and until you threw up viscous black and could remember the slightest, smallest detail of his life, and until you knew exactly how it felt to fuck you. Like the best damn thing he'd ever experienced. Like love at first bite.

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rainnycloudstorm · 4 months ago

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Baked In Blood

summary: Driven by kindness, you walk to a secluded house every day, leaving freshly baked pies for the mysterious man who never shows himself. But when your neighbor, Mrs. Hatcher, is violently killed one night, everything changes. As fear spreads through the town, the man you've been silently serving steps into her life—and the true, terrifying nature of his obsession begins to unravel.

warnings: non-con, dub-con, explicit content, dirty talk, mentions of blood and murder, forest sex, prey and predator dynamics

pairing: dark!remmick x fem!reader

words: 6k

based off this request

The air was thick with that early morning quiet — not cold, but not warm yet either. Just still. Hushed. Like the world hadn’t quite decided to wake up. The pie in your hands was still warm, warmed in a red gingham towel that gave a slight aroma of sugar and cinnamon. You carried it like you always did, how you carried it to his house every morning. Steady, careful, both hands under the dish so the heat didn’t slip through and burn your fingers.

You took the long way, even though you didn’t have to. Past the lot where the hydrangeas used to grow, Past the old gas station that hadn’t sold gas in years. The street was empty, save for a squirrel darting across the sidewalk and a newspaper half soaked in dew.

You liked mornings like this. Quiet ones. Nobody needing anything from you yet.

His house sat at the far end of the block, past where the road cracked deeper and the shade settled in early. You could barely see the roofline through the trees most days. No cars in the drive. No signs of the sun shining into his house in the mornings, windows and curtains closed. Just that porch with the crooked step and the step and the front door that never opened.

You didn’t know who he was. No one really did.

You’d never seen him up close. Never heard his voice. Just a name once, muttered by a neighbor who looked like she regretted saying it the second it left her mouth.

But none of that mattered. Never mattered to you.

You climbed the creaking and worn steps like usual, pie in hand, the porch groaning under your weight. You paused at the door. Knocked once… twice then three times and that was it. Never more.

SIlence only met you. Not even a sign of a curtain drawing back. Though you waited just for a few seconds more. Long enough to maybe give him a chance to open the door and accept the pie you usually baked.

There were signs he took the dishes you left on the little table posted by the chair on his porch. And you needed him to open the door sooner or later in the future because you sure were running out your plates and dishes.

So you crouched down slightly, set the pie down on the small round table. You adjusted the towel, smoothed it down with your fingers. And then left like you always did. Same way you came. With your back turned you never saw the figure that stood by the window– shifting the curtain ever so slightly to watch you leave.

It was a good twenty five minutes by the time you reached your gates, your rhoughts still back at that old house. You’d never gotten anything in return except for an empty door. But it didn’t stop you. Some things couldn’t be helped, and kindness was one of them. It was just who you were.

You didn’t know why you were this way– always looking out for others, always taking the time to lend a hand, even if it meant nothing in return. Maybe it was because your mama had always taught you that small acts of kindness could make all the difference in a world that could be a little too harsh and unyielding sometimes. Or maybe it was just your heart, too damn big for its own good.

You’d seen people look at you strangely when you held the door open for them or when you offered a smile to the grumpy old guy who owned a small grocery store cross the street who barely even returned the smile. But you didn’t mind. You’d always been this way, and you’d always keep doing it— whether it was helping your neighbor Mrs Hatcher with her groceries or just leaving one too many baked goods for a man who never even bothered to show his face.

As you reached the steps of your porch, you noticed Mrs Hatcher was sitting outside again, her rocking chair creaking steadily. The morning sun barely touched her, casting her face in a sharp light that made her look even more critical than usual. You almost didn’t want to stop, but you were too polite, so you gave her a quick wave as you neared the gate.

She didn't wave back. Not like how she would regularly do so. Instead, she looked you up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly, and for a moment, the silence between you both felt a little too thick. “Been out walking again, huh?” she said, her voice carrying the same sharpness it always did, but now there was something else in it— a little more judgement, a little less warmth than usual.

You nodded. “Just dropped something off.”

Her eyes flickered toward the street, and she took a slow drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air like it had a mind of its own. “And what’s that, exactly? Your ‘good deed’ for the day?” You shifted on your feet, a little uncomfortable, but you didn’t want to seem rude. “Just took the guy that lives in that old house near the woods a pie. I baked it in the morning.”

Mrs Hatcher raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair as if shw was trying to make some sense of you. “That house,” she started slowly, like she was comprehending her own words in her head before letting them out, “It ain’t one for pies, sugar. And it ain’t one for kindness neither. You might want to stop before you‘re the only one left out there handing things to a ghost.”

You felt a small flutter in your chest, but you didn’t show it. Sure you’ve heard the whispers about that house— from the strange way it sat, half hidden behind thick trees, the rumours that no one had ever seen the man who supposedly lived there. People called him strange, distant, dangerous even, but it didn’t faze you. You didn’t need to know him to know that everyone deserved a little kindness.

“I’m sure he’ll like it,” you said simply, smiling. “He’s always been taking them in.”

Mrs Hatcher’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Is that so huh?” She leaned forward, the creaking of her chair louder now, her tone dripping with a subtle challenge. “Well, maybe he don’t mind. But I’m telling you sugar, one day you’ll find out kindness don’t always come back around the way you think it will.”

You didn’t know why, but there was something in the way she said it that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Something that didn't sit right. But you ignored it, like you always did with her not bothering to listen to any of the bullshit any more, you just gave a simple smile and nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you said, offering a half smile before stepping toward your front door.

The last thing you heard before you entered was Mrs Hatcher’s voice, barely above a murmur, like she was talking to herself. “Just be careful, girl. There’s kindness… and then there’s being a fool for it, and that’s you right now.”

You didn’t let it bother you. It was just Mrs Hatcher, always watching, always waiting for something to go wrong. But somehow, her words hung in the air, and for the first time in a while, you wondered if there might be more to her warning then you realized.

Everyone was shocked to hear the news, but nobody could say they were surprised.

It wasn’t the kind of thing that was completely unexpected in a place like this. The kind of place where people get to be known by their routines, their quirks and their habits. So when the sheriff made his rounds, grim faced and speaking low, people leaned in a little closer, nodding pretending they didn’t already know.

Mrs Hatcher had been found in her chair— rocking still, like she was just taking one of her usual evening naps. But this time, her chair wasn’t creaking from the wear of decades. It was still in a way it never had been before. Her neck, torn open, blood spread thick across the porch, pooling like dark wine against the old wood.

It was late, the street bathed in that heavy hush. The silence clung to the scene, to the dark windows and the front door that creaked ever so slightly due to the wind.

But it wasn’t just the manner of her death that had the town rattled. It was the fact that it had happened right there. Just a few houses down from where you could practically hear the crickets and see the stars in their endless stretch above. Mrs Hatcher had never been the type to keep quiet. She knew too much, talked too loud, watched too long— and all her sharp words, there was always a thin, hidden thread of fear running underneath them.

The sheriff said it was too early to say much. But you didn’t need to be a damn detective to know that whatever had happened to Mrs Hatcher, it had come from the deep shadows beyond the streetlight’s reach. And that, as always, made you nervous.

You stood at the edge of the gathering, the murmurs of the townsfolk was a distant hum as your eyes were just fixed on Mrs Hatcher's porch. The air was thick with the scent of iron and something else— something you couldn’t quite place.

As you begin to take a cautious step closer, a sudden chill ran down your spine. You turned slightly, sensing a presence behind you.

Remmick stood there, half shrouded in shadow, his eyes reflecting the dim light with an unsettling gleam. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth when he saw your reaction to him somehow startling you.

“Ain’t you—” you began to say, but he beat you to it, laughing low in his throat as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Lord, you spook easy,” he said, voice thick just soft enough to make you lean in without meaning to. “Didn’t mean to startle you, sugar. Though I s’pose I got a knack for it.”

You didn’t answer right away— couldn’t, really. It wasn’t just that he’d come out of nowhere. It was that this was the first time you were actually seeing him. Up close. And he wasn’t what you expected. He was just a normal man. Tall, wth skin pale like it hadn’t met sunlight in years. But it wasn’t his looks that held you. It was something else you couldn't quite take hold on.

“You’re…” The words trailed from your lips, thin and uncertain,

“Remmick,” he offered, with the faintest tilt of his head, the smile still ghosting at the corners of his mouth. “Though it sounds like folks ‘round here prefer other names for me.”

He glanced across the street, toward the sea of curious people that had gathered in front of Mrs Hatcher’s house. The porch light burned too bright now, casting hard shadows over shaken faces and murmured prayers. Someone was crying, but no one had dared to step past the old woman’s front gate. No one even noticed him. Not with the chaos. Not with the way the fear made them all look anywhere but the dark.

“Hell of a night,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice curing like smoke in the stillness.

Then he looked back at you. “You been bringing those baked goods, didn’t you, specially the one today?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The one in the red towel. Sugar and cinnamon.” His gaze lingered. “Tasted real good.”

Unease tightened in your chest, and something more but you weren’t sure if it was fear or something colder.

He chuckled again—low, almost fond. “Meant to bring the dish back. Got a mind like a cracked jar, though. Things slip out easy.”

You swallowed, unsure if you meant to nod.

“If you’re not too spooked to walk back with me,” he said, voice light like he was asking you to fetch a paper off the porch, “I could hand it off now.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then added with a crooked smile, “Seems like nobody’s watchin’ but you anyhow.”

You cleared your thrat, trying to keep your voice steady. “That’s alright, I can just come by in the mornin’ and pick it up.”

You didn’t even get another sentence out before he titled his head, slow and deliberate, and stepped in just a tad closer. “Nah,” he said, low and smooth, like he was talking to some skittish animal. “Best do it now.” There was something in the way he said it—not harsh, but final. As if he was the one deciding for you instead.

You tried to laugh it off, light and easy. “It’s no trouble really. I don't mind—”

“But I do,” he cut in, still smiling. “Ain’t polite, lettin’ a lady like you walk all the way just to fetch her own plate back. ‘Sides, I got somethin’ for you.” That made you pause. “A gift,” he added, like he was sweetening the offer, though the word came off strange in his mouth, like he’d never had much reason to use it. “For all those baked goods. Seemed only right.”

You hesitated, eyes flicking toward the crowd again that was still buzzing around Mrs Hatcher’s porch, not a single one of them looking in your direction. His voice dropped slightly, though the smile stayed. “AIn’t nobody gonna notice you’re gone, sugar. Not tonight.”

And it was true. They wouldn’t. The streetlamps were dim, the shadows stretched long, and everyone’s attention was wrapped up on what had happened. You could simply leave easy right now, and nobody would even call your name.

You swallowed, throat dry.

He turned then, back toward the narrow path leading toward the woods. “C’mon,” he said over his shoulder, his husky and slow with a soft roughness to it. “It’s just a short walk. You already know the way.”

Yeah a short walk… a twenty five minute short walk with a guy you baked for but he never did have the face to open the door, and suddenly he’s asking you to follow him home after the events that took place tonight. But you didn’t give it a thought any longer, telling yourself you were just now paranoid. So you just followed behind him.

The road felt longer this time. Each step kicked up dust that didn’t seem to settle, and the cicadas had gone quiet, like even they didn’t want to listen in. You kept a few paces behind him, watching the sway of his shoulders, the way he didn’t look back once—not even to make sure you were still there.

You told yourself it was fine. He was just being polite. Returning a dish, offering a gift. That’s all it was.

But the dark felt thicker out here. Heavier. Like it was pressing in, one slow breath at a time.

It was a good ten minutes before either of you spoke.

Just shoes on the forest floor. The occasional creak of a distant fence outside of the trees shifting in the wind. You were starting to think maybe he wasn’t much for small talk—maybe he’d changed his mind about that “gift” entirely—when his voice finally cut through the dark.

“You always that generous with folks who don’t bother sayin’ thank you?”

You blinked. “Figured you were just shy.”

That made him huff a laugh. “Is that what they’re callin’ it these days.”

You could see the back of his head tilt slightly, like he was chewing on whatever thought came next. Then he added, “Truth be told, I didn’t expect you to keep bringin’ those goods. Thought you’d give up after the second one went untouched.”

“They weren’t untouched,” you said quietly.

Another beat of silence.

“No,” he said at last. “No, they weren’t.”

And that was all he said.

Just enough to make your skin prickle.

You kept walking, telling yourself you were just tired. Just tired and rattled from everything with Mrs. Hatcher. But still, something in his voice made you wonder if the pies were all he’d been taking.

The road narrowed as you walked, the trees leaning in closer like they were listening, their bare branches creaking softly in the wind as though whispering to one another. Crickets had gone quiet somewhere along the way. You didn’t notice when. Just that the silence had started to hum, low and constant, like something was holding its breath.

“You always walk this way alone?” he asked, voice low like he was afraid to break something in the dark, or maybe like he hoped he would.

You glanced at him. “Most mornings.”

“Brave,” he muttered, though it didn’t sound like praise. “Folks ‘round here talk too much and see too little. That kind of silence’s dangerous when no one’s listenin’ right.”

“You listen?”

“Sometimes,” he said. Then, with a half-smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “Don’t mean I always like what I hear.” You didn’t answer that. Just kept your eyes ahead, the trees curling over the path like ribs, and the moonlight catching in strange, pale flashes on the gravel. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken this road, but it felt unfamiliar now, like the dirt had been stirred different, like something unseen had stepped ahead of you first and left the path colder behind it.

“Why now?” you asked suddenly, the question clawing out before you could think better of it. “All this time, you never said a word. Never showed your face. Then tonight, after—” you didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to. The name didn’t need to be said again out loud.

He took his time responding, just like he took his time walking. “Reckon I just figured the timing was right.”

“That because of Mrs. Hatcher?”

That smile again. Crooked. Sharp at the edges. “Didn’t say that.”

You stopped walking for a beat, not because you meant to, but because something in your chest pulled tight. “But you didn’t say it wasn’t.”

He looked back at you slowly, eyes gleaming in the dark like wet stones, and for a second, his face was half-lit by the moon, carved in angles and shadows that didn’t look entirely human. “You ask a lot of questions for someone still walkin’ beside me.”

That stopped you more than anything. Not the words, but the way he said them—calm, like he was commenting on the weather. Like he already knew you’d keep walking anyway.

And you did.

Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was that same part of you that kept leaving pies at the door of a man you’d never seen, even when the dishes never came back. That stupid softness your mama used to call your ‘God-given curse.’ Either way, your feet moved before your mouth could argue.

Ten more minutes, you told yourself. Just ten more minutes. And then you’d turn around.

But deep down, you already knew you wouldn’t.

The woods felt suffocating, each step you took making the air grow thicker, heavier, as though something in the darkness was pressing against you. It wasn’t just the trees, it wasn’t just the silence. It was him.

Remmick walked ahead of you, so calm, so assured—like this was all part of some twisted game, and you were the only one who didn’t know the rules. His back was turned, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of you, every movement of yours, every step you took.

Finally, you couldn’t do it anymore. The weight of his presence, the heavy silence, the way he didn’t even seem to care that you were still walking behind him—it all piled up. You had to say something.

“I think I’m just gonna head home,” you said, your voice shaky, betraying the panic you were trying to keep under control. “You can just give me the dishes and gifts another time.” Your words felt like a desperate attempt to break the tension, but they fell into the woods like a pebble into a deep, dark well—no echo, no response.

For a moment, there was nothing but the low rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the night wind. Then, without turning to face you, his voice cut through the air—low, dark, chilling.

“Daft.”

It wasn’t a word. It was a sentence. A judgment.

You froze. His voice, though soft, felt like it was wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make it hard to breathe. Your heart skipped a beat, your skin prickling. You couldn’t tell whether it was fear, the cold, or something else entirely making your body shudder.

Your mouth went dry, but you tried to force out something—anything to break this moment, this growing nightmare. “I—I'm just not feeling well. I think I should go.”

You took a step back, but he wasn’t having it. He didn’t even turn to face you.

“Daft,” he repeated, sharper now. “You think I’d let you walk away after you followed me here?” Your breath hitched. Your feet felt glued to the ground, like the air was too thick to move through. You wanted to run, to scream, but your body betrayed you, stuck in place as if you were trapped in quicksand.

You looked at him now—his back still turned—but something about his posture had shifted. It wasn’t just his body language, though. It was in the air. It was in the space between you. Something darker had taken root, something unrecognizable.

He finally turned, slowly, deliberately, and the smile he gave you wasn’t the same one from earlier. There was nothing warm in it. It was sharp, cold, like a blade dragging across skin.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. His eyes locked onto yours, but they were different now—flickers of red deepening in the corners, glowing faintly in the dim light. He didn’t look human but at the same time he did.

He took a step closer, and you backed up, your heart pounding faster. But your feet wouldn’t move. You wanted to run, but your body was paralyzed. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. “You don’t just walk away from me, sugar,” he said, his voice smooth like silk, but each word felt like a weight. “You don’t follow me into the woods and think you can just... leave.”

There it was again—his smile, wider now, crueler. It made your stomach twist, nausea rising up your throat.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice almost too calm. “You think you’re safe, walking through the woods like this? Like I’m some normal guy you can just forget about?” He took another step toward you, and you felt yourself sway back, but your feet stayed planted.

His eyes were glowing now, too bright in the dark, his pupils slit like a predator’s. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening.

“You wanna know what it felt like?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing. The way he looked at you then—like he was studying something precious, something fragile—made a shiver crawl down your spine. “What it felt like to kill Mrs. Hatcher?”

You blinked, eyes wide. Your mouth opened, but no words came. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

“Her blood was so warm,” he whispered, as if speaking to himself, the words heavy with something sinister. “The moment my teeth sank into her throat, she stopped fighting. She knew. She knew she couldn’t outrun it, couldn’t escape me. But she didn’t stop trying, not at first. She kicked. She scratched. She screamed—but there was no sound. No sound at all once I got my hand over her mouth.”

You could barely hold your ground now, your legs trembling. Every word he said made you want to run, but your body was frozen, immobilized by something you couldn’t explain.

“She tried so hard to get away,” Remmick continued, his voice softer now, like he was savoring the memory. “But the harder she fought, the better it felt. I could feel her pulse—fast, frantic, desperate. It was like the world had slowed down, and all I could hear was the sound of her blood rushing, beating in her veins, until it wasn’t.”

Your body was shaking now, your hands clenched into fists by your sides. You couldn’t escape his gaze, couldn’t escape the pull of his voice.

“She went limp, finally. And I could taste it—the victory, the power. The moment her body stopped fighting? That was the moment I knew. I knew it was perfect.”

You felt sick, but you couldn’t look away. His eyes—those damn eyes—had you trapped, every word sinking deeper into your chest, twisting, turning.

“You should’ve stayed away,” he murmured, taking another step closer, and your body lurched, the terror of it all finally making your feet move. But not fast enough. “But now it’s too late darlin’ cause I intend to keep you for myself now.”

That was when you began running.

Branches whipped your arms and tore at your clothes, but you didn’t feel it. You were moving on instinct—raw, clumsy, frantic. The darkness swallowed the path, and still you ran, lungs burning, eyes stinging. You didn’t even know where you were going. Just away.

Behind you, his footsteps didn’t rush. He wasn’t chasing. He was following. Like a predator who already knew exactly where you’d end up. “Keep running,” he called, voice almost playful. Almost. “It’ll only make me want to fuck you harder.” You didn’t scream. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight with terror, your body buzzing with the kind of panic that drowns thought.

Then your foot caught—root, rock, something—and the forest flipped sideways. You hit the ground hard, your palms shredding on gravel and bark. The pain jolted up your arms and knocked the air from your lungs. You scrambled to your feet, but your ankle screamed the second you put weight on it. There wasn’t time—he was too close.

So you crawled. Half-dragging yourself through the underbrush, eyes wild, hands trembling, and ducked behind the thick trunk of a gnarled pine. You pressed yourself against the bark, heart slamming against your ribs so loud you were sure he could hear it. The forest had gone still.

Dead still.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing, every breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps through your nose.

He yelled out your name—how’d he even know your name? There was a guttural edge to his voice—low, primal—that tore something loose in you. You cried silently, not daring to make noise, not out of fear, but because your body didn’t know what else to do.

He found you before you could move again — an arm slipping around your waist from behind. You barely had time to gasp before he pulled you back, gently but firmly, like you'd simply wandered too far.

Then, without warning, your head was guided down, not slammed, but pressed hard enough into the earth that the shock still jarred you. Dizziness bloomed behind your eyes. By the time you blinked through it, Remmick was already on top of you, his body blanketing yours with a frightening calm. His chest pressed against your back, steady, too steady. One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until it curled around your throat — not choking, just holding. Controlling.

A broken sound escaped you as tears streamed down your face, hot and helpless. Your fingers clawed instinctively at his hand, the one wrapped so carefully—so cruelly around your throat. There was no strength in your resistance, only fear and the desperate hope that he might hesitate.

He takes his hand from your neck, and you barely register when it slips beneath your long nightgown. One hand forcefully parts your thighs—rough and possessive—while the other holds your wrists captive above your head. "You don’t even know," he murmurs, his voice almost gentle, as he continues "You're fortunate that I want you all to myself."

You try to push against his hold, but he only tightens his grip, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His words echo in your mind as fear and confusion swirl within you. You feel trapped, vulnerable beneath him as he looms over you with a hunger in his eyes that chills you to the core.

You can see the intensity of his gaze fixed upon you, a mixture of desire and possession that makes your heart race with both terror and a strange, forbidden thrill. And as his lips brush against your ear, whispering promises of pleasure and pain, you can't help but wonder what fate has brought you to this moment, where his will dominates your own and the line between fear and longing blurs into something dangerous and intoxicating.

You don’t even notice he’s moved your undergarments aside, not warning you.You suddenly wince as he inserts two fingers at once, not bothering to be gentle. His breath is hot on your neck, his voice a low growl. "You're mine now. Every part of you belongs to me." You can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, unlike your own which is pounding wildly against your ribs. His fingers move inside you, exploring, claiming, and you gasp, your body betraying you with a shiver of pleasure.

He shifts slightly, his lips trailing down from your ear to your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "You can fight it all you want," he whispers, his voice like velvet darkness, "but your body knows who it belongs to." His thumb finds your most sensitive spot, circling slowly, deliberately, drawing out a moan from deep within you despite the fear that still lingers in your eyes.

You buck against him, a futile attempt to deny the sensations coursing through you.

He laughs softly against your skin, a sound that resonates with triumph. His teeth graze your shoulder, a gentle bite that should be a warning, but your mind is a swirl of confusion and desire. The nightgown tangles around your waist as he shifts again, releasing your wrists to push the fabric higher.

Oddly enough, when your fight waned, that was when things…changed. "There she is," he says, his hands warm on your bare hips. You know you should run, scream, do anything to break free from the spell his touch weaves around you, but your muscles betray you, your body succumbing in various ways as pleasure envelops you completely.

"You were made for this," he breathes, his eyes dark with certainty. He pins you down again, and this time you don’t struggle, the fight leaving your limbs as your own desires betray you. You can sense the mounting bliss intensifying within you, building pressure in your lower core as you teeter on the edge, about to climax on his fingers.

He watches your face closely, like a man studying a piece of art, ready for the moment when it overtakes you. "There you go darlin’," he murmurs, urging you on, and the sound of his voice is the final push. You cry out as waves of release crash through you and every nerve in your body sings with surrender.

He holds you through it, his fingers slowing to a languid pace until your breathing evens and your heart calms, pulling back slightly to look at you, satisfaction etched across his face. He removes his fingers slowly and careful, you don’t even have a second to even catch a break before you can hear the rustling of his belt and pants and you know what's coming. He parts your legs wider, opening you to him again, and presses against your entrance.

“Gonna claim ya real good now darlin’, you’re doing such a good job.” The sensation of him entering you is intense—stretching, burning, and pulling you apart with the thick, weighty movement of his shaft. He fills you completely, every inch commanding submission, and you arch under him, the feeling overwhelming and all-consuming.

His hands grip your hips, steadying you, pulling you closer as he begins to move. He thrusts slow and deep, each motion a deliberate staking of his claim, and your body responds in ways you can't control, meeting his rhythm, rising to meet him as he buries himself inside you over and over.

Your mind reels with the impossibility of it, the way desire silences resistance, and your body betrays every instinct to flee, surrendering instead to the brutal, relentless pleasure he forces upon you. You gasp his name, a broken plea caught between a cry and a moan, and he only pushes harder, his breath hot and wild against your throat.

"That's it," he groans, his voice rough with need, "take it all."

As he bent down to kiss you, you without thinking returned the gesture. His thumb grazed your damp skin, and a soft hum in his throat soon transformed into a groan. You didn't desire it, nor did your mind, yet it seemed as though your body was operating independently, driven by hormones.

His hand snaked through your hair, pulling gently as his lips pressed against yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss deepened, full of demand and promise, his teeth and tongue teasing you until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. The force of it all—the thrusting, the kissing, the claiming—pulled you further into a daze where pleasure eclipsed pain, and you were lost, floating on the brink of something infinite.

Your body arched helplessly, wave after wave of sensation leaving you breathless, raw, and vulnerable. He quickened his pace, his movements more urgent, pushing you both toward an inevitable release. The air was thick with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by his ragged breaths and your own soft, involuntary cries. It was too much, too fast, and yet nothing else mattered in those moments but the wild, terrible ecstasy of being taken, utterly and completely.

You closed your eyes, too overcome with the overstimulation, he curved his hips deeper into you. “Open your eyes darlin’.” He says getting your attention again. You obeyed, though some quiet part of you understood how dangerous it was—how locking eyes with the one unraveling you piece by piece would only carve the memory deeper.

"Don’t look away," he breathed, his nose brushing yours with each slow, deliberate motion—like he needed you to witness what he was doing. You did, though your vision blurred with the weight of it all. Maybe it was instinct, maybe something deeper—but you obeyed. Looking into his eyes was like staring down a storm: wild, old, and wholly untamable.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured again, breath hitching against your cheek, his drawl low and possessive. “Ain’t no one ever gonna see you like this but me, you understand?”

The air felt thick, like the woods themselves were leaning in to watch. His nose brushed yours with every movement, his brow pressed to your temple. You weren’t sure when the tears started again, but they did—quiet, unrelenting.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed, voice coated in something reverent and frightening all at once. “Ain’t just sayin’ that either—I felt it in my bones the second I saw you. Like God carved you out just for me.”

As he continued to whisper shameful, dirty words to you, saying things like you’d never leave him, and as he still relentelly thrusted into you, his mouth found your neck—then came the sharp, sinking pain of his bite. It wasn’t just teeth. It was a claim. A seal. Something final.

And in the haze of it all, in the breathless dark, you stopped fighting the truth. Somewhere between fear and surrender… you accepted it.

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rainnycloudstorm · 4 months ago

Text

Under The Blood Moon

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: in the humid belly of the night, you flee through the wild woods, breathless and bleeding, chased by a monster dressed in the skin of a man, and when he inevitably catches you, it's not to kill, but to keep. What follows is neither rescue or ruin, but a slow, savage claim written in blood, hunger, and heat.

wc: 8.1k

a/n: for this request, where anon wanted me to lean into Remmick's more monstrous side. My inbox is always open if anyone wants to submit more! also, thank you all so, so, so much for all the love, support, and general positivity you've all shown my fics lately—it genuinely means more than I can even put into words. I'm still blown away by the responses my fics have gotten in the last week, it warms my soul to no end every time I think about it <3 also have to credit axelboneboy for putting the idea of Remmick with a forked tongue in my head

warnings: heavy dubcon, dead dove: do not eat, blood kink, period sex, heavy breeding kink, monsterfucking, possessive behavior, coercive control, demon x human dynamics, religious imagery, breeding/ownership language, filthy talk, cockdrunk reader, forced orgasm, restraints/restraint kink, forced captivity, manipulation, southern gothic horror, explicit sexual content, obsession, violence, rough sex, blood play, dark romance, somnophilia undertones (reader too weak to consent properly)

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!! please enjoy!!

M I N D T H E T A G S

Your breath saws raggedly through your throat as you run, legs scraping through the underbrush, branches slashing at your arms, the wet slap of mud against your calves. Your shoes are long gone, lost somewhere back on the splintered path—the soles of your feet raw and stinging with every frantic step.

Your dress, once a soft, homespun cotton in faded butter yellow, clings wetly to your skin, torn at the hem, heavy with damp earth and blood from shallow scratches. The thin petticoat underneath is ripped, the neckline torn where it caught on a low-hanging branch. Your bare legs gleam with sweat and dirt under the fevered gaze of the blood moon. The rough, hand-stitched seams bite into your skin with every frantic movement.

Behind you—

Footsteps.

Heavy, deliberate.

Not rushing, no.

He doesn't need to rush.

The blood moon glowers overhead, a bruised red eye in the sky, bleeding sickly light through the skeletal trees. The mist writhes around your ankles like grasping fingers, every breath clogged with the sour, choking scent of wet moss and rot. The forest feels alive—the cypress trees hunching closer, the swamp water sloshing in unseen black pools, the night thick with the buzz of unseen insects and the sticky slap of humidity against your skin.

You tear through a thicket, thorns slicing your thighs, the pain sharp but distant beneath the roaring panic. Your dress snags again—this time you rip free with a sob, fabric tearing in your frantic escape. You don't stop. You can't stop.

Your lungs burn. Your heart pounds a frantic, desperate rhythm against your ribs. Your hands are scraped raw where you shove branches aside. You don't know where you're going—only that you have to keep moving.

You think for one stupid, precious second that maybe you've lost him.

Then you hear it—

A low, rumbling chuckle.

The sound rolls across the mist like thunder, like a beast amused by the futile thrashing of its prey.

You shove yourself harder, feet slipping in the mud, the trees spinning in dizzy circles around you.

You should have listened.

The warning plays in your mind now, mocking and merciless—the old women in town, whispering in the feed store, their wrinkled hands making frantic crosses over their chests.

Don't go out on the blood moon.

There's something that walks these woods. A devil dressed in skin, hunting for its next meal.

You had laughed it off. Old wives' tales. A story to get unruly children to behave. Of course you didn't believe it...

Not until the heavy footsteps started following you.

Not until the woods seemed to shift, herding you deeper and deeper.

Not until the laughter—low, rich, and terrifying.

Your foot catches on a root hidden beneath the mist. You go down hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Dirt and dead leaves cling to your palms as you scramble up, only to be yanked backwards by an iron grip around your ankle.

A scream rips from your throat as you're dragged across the ground, nails clawing uselessly at the earth, the taste of dirt and blood thick on your tongue.

"Well, lookie here," a deep, amused voice drawls from the shadows, thick with a Southern slur, soaked in heat and hunger. "Thought you could outrun me, lil’ hare?"

You kick, thrash, cry but—but it's useless.

He steps into view.

For the first time, you see him. Truly see him.

Broad-shouldered, wrapped in the kind of strength that speaks of old blood, of violence written into the bones. His bangs are slick with sweat and sticking to his forehead, catching the moonlight in glints of silver and soot. His mouth is a slow, cruel curve, teeth flashing when he smiles—serrated and sharp, dangerous in their promise.

And his eyes—

God, his eyes.

Deep, burning red, like fresh blood spilled on freshly fallen snow.

They glint at you through the mist, pinning you in place, drowning you in a voracity so raw it almost hums against your skin.

You whimper, trying to crab-crawl backward, but he just tilts his head, slow and mocking, one hand reaching lazily down to wrap around your ankle again.

"You run real pretty," he murmurs, accent thick and sweet as sap dripping down the bark of a Maple tree, "but you ain't got nowhere left t' go, sugar."

The gnarled woods close around you, the mist swallowing your pitiful cries, the trees bending low to listen.

And the monster—

The one you were warned about—

Grins as he pounces.

The world spins in a dizzy, mud-slick blur as he crashes into you, the full weight of him knocking the breath from your lungs. His hands are everywhere—rough palms sliding up your trembling thighs, your waist, trapping your wrists above your head with a grip so strong it aches.

You thrash, wild and panicked, but it’s like fighting against a landslide.

Every frantic buck of your hips, every desperate twist of your wrists, every teary plea for help, only seems to amuse him further.

He straddles you easily, his thighs like iron on either side of your hips, his body radiating impossible heat. His breath ghosts over your neck—slow, savoring—and when he inhales, it’s with a deep, shuddering drag, as though he’s drinking you in.

You go still.

Frozen.

A scared little rabbit under the paw of a hungry wolf.

Slowly, he lifts his head, and when your eyes meet his, your heart lurches sickly into your throat.

Those eyes—

Red as the blood moon above.

Glowing, starving.

The corner of his mouth curls, a slow, predatory grin, delighting in your overwhelming fear.

"Y' smell it, don't ya?" he murmurs, low and thick with appetite. His nose brushes the curve of your neck, inhaling again, greedily, his voice gone almost reverent. "Sweet lil' thing...bleedin' just f'me."

Your stomach turns over, nausea and terror twining like barbed wire.

He slides lower, his body pressing yours into the soft, damp earth. You can feel every strong inch of him—the way the metal of his belt buckle digs into your hip, the way his thigh muscles tense against you like a coiled predator savoring the final moments before it goes in for the kill.

His nose trails down, brushing the hollow of your throat, the dip between your breasts—slow, agonizing, torturous.

You try to pull away—

He growls.

Not a human sound.

Something low, rattling. Monstrous.

His hand tightens around your wrists until your bones creak. His other hand snakes between your bodies, grabbing your skirt—what's left of it—and dragging it higher, baring your thighs to the muggy night air.

"No use runnin' now," he says, almost gentle, as if talking down a skittish animal. His accent thickens, each word dripping slow as syrup, artificially sweet. "Gotcha all laid out pretty...just how I like ya."

You whimper, twisting helplessly, but he just chuckles deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your ribs.

And then he goes still.

For one terrible, breathless second, he freezes—nostrils flaring, whiffing deeply, body tense as a drawn bowstring.

His gaze drops between your legs—to where your petticoat is soaked through, a dark, spreading stain betraying you to the night.

The change is instant.

A groan tears from his throat—raw, guttural, almost pained—and when his eyes meet yours again, they're molten red, desperate, devouring.

"God Almighty," he rasps, voice cracking like dry kindling. "Ain't nothin' in this world sweeter than a bleedin' cunt."

You sob, humiliated, terrified, as he shifts lower, his body dragging down over yours.

One hand shoves your thighs apart—roughly, possessively—while the other pins your wrists like shackles above your head.

"You don’t even know," he murmurs, almost tender, mouth ghosting over your inner thigh, his breath scorching hot, even in Delta’s sweltering humidity. "Don't even know what you’re doin' to me, sweet pea."

You can feel it now—his mouth, open and panting against the sensitive skin of your thigh, the tremble in his hands as he fights the urge to tear you open like a cat stretched over a fresh kill.

He presses his face against you, inhaling, low and deep, the sound of it filthy in the night.

And then—

He licks.

Long, slow, obscene—dragging his tongue up the seam of your cunt through the blood-slick cotton, a helpless whimper shuddering out of you before you can stop it.

He growls in response—a sound of such raw, savage pleasure you feel it bone-deep.

"That's it," he croons against you, dragging his mouth over you again, harder now, more desperate. "Let me taste it, baby...let me drink ya down."

You shake your head weakly, gasping, tears kissing along your water lines, vision blurry.

He only laughs —low and delighted—and tears the soiled remains of your petticoat aside with a quick, brutal rip of fabric.

And then there’s nothing between you.

Nothing but blood, skin, and his appetite.

Your thighs quake against the rough spread of his hands as he forces you open wider, his breath scorching hot against the most vulnerable parts of you, the parts that have never known a man's touch.

For a moment, he just stares—a low, reverent rumble building in his chest, vibrating through the muggy, blood-heavy air.

You choke on a sob, trying to squirm away, but his fingers dig bruises into your thighs.

"Nuh-uh, sugar," he murmurs, thick with amusement, the sharp scrape of his accent dragging down your spine like a blade. "You gone run enough."

You feel the shift—

Feel it deep in your marrow—

When he leans in and lets his mouth part against you.

A soft, wet, sinful sound fills the air as he licks—

And not just with any tongue.

When he drags it up your slit, you feel it—the unnatural split, the way the forked ends flick and curl separately, tracing obscene patterns through the slick, blood-slick folds of your cunt.

Your whole body seizes, a ragged, fragmented noise spilling from your throat.

He hums low—pleased, greedy—and licks again, slower this time, letting the twin points of his tongue tease your clit, your opening, flickering back and forth in a rhythm that makes your back arch high against the dirt.

"Mmm," he groans into you, nosing deeper, breathing you in like he means to fill his lungs with nothing but your scent. "Ain't never had a taste so fine. Like honey drippin' straight from the comb."

Tears streak from the corners of your eyes and down your temples, hot and shameful. You wrench your wrists uselessly against his grip, but he just pins you harder, his hand tightening like an iron shackle around your wrists.

He pulls back—just enough for you to see the blood slicking his lips, his chin—

And the red gleam of his eyes as he smiles, wide and mean.

"You wanna know what I was fixin' t' do t' ya?" he drawls, voice syrupy slow, full of wickedness. "When I caught ya runnin', I thought I'd rip that pretty lil' throat open. Watch ya bleed out all soft an' sweet beneath me."

You sob—broken, desperate.

His smile sharpens.

"Still might," he says, almost cheerfully, leaning back in, his nose nudging your clit so softly it makes your legs jerk. "If ya don't play real sweet for me, darlin'."

The implication settles heavy as stone in your gut—brutal, absolute.

Be good.

Or be dead.

You nod, trembling so hard your teeth chatter.

He croons a soft, pleased sound, rubbing his cheek against your inner thigh like a cat marking its prize.

"That's my girl," he says, thick and low, tongue flickering out to taste you again—slower now, more savoring. "Gonna treat ya real nice if ya stay still f'me."

You do.

You have no choice.

And he devours you.

The twin forks of his tongue work you open mercilessly—teasing, dipping, thrusting, flicking over the swollen nub of your clit in relentless, devastating licks. The sensation is too much—too sharp, too wet, too filthy—and you sob against the onslaught, your hips bucking helplessly beneath his iron grip.

He groans against you—filthy, hungry—and the vibrations make your vision white out at the edges.

"You taste like a blessin'," he mutters into your cunt, grinding the words into your skin with his mouth. "Sweet lil' Sunday sacrament, all laid out f'me t' worship."

You gasp, legs trembling violently, as the first orgasm builds—fast and brutal, cresting through you with the same merciless inevitability as the hunter pressing you down into the dirt, refusing to let up.

You don't want it.

You can't want it.

But your body betrays you—spasming against his mouth, a shuddering cry breaking loose from your throat as you come, helpless and raw, against the wickedly incessant flicker of his tongue.

He moans as if your climax is the answer to damnation.

When you finally sag against the ground, limp and wrecked, he rises up over you—his mouth and chin slick with blood and slickness, his chest heaving, his cock straining hard against the rough denim of his trousers.

And for the first time—

There’s something in his face that’s not just hunger.

Something softer—

Something almost awed.

"Didn't think," he says roughly, almost to himself, "you'd be this damn sweet."

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours—a rough, possessive, almost tender gesture.

"Ain't lettin' ya go now, sweet pea," he whispers, voice cracking like a prayer. "Ain't never lettin' go."

His hands trail down your body—calloused, devout—and you realize with a sick, fluttering horror that he’s not finished.

Not by a long shot.

He’s only just getting started.

You’re barely aware of him moving—too dazed, too wrecked—until the earth suddenly tilts wildly beneath you.

He rises to his feet in one smooth, terrifying motion, hauling your limp body up like you weigh nothing at all. His arms lock around your thighs, hoisting you over his broad shoulder, your face bouncing helplessly against the curve of his back.

The rough weave of his shirt scrapes your muddied cheek, damp with sweat and the humid Mississippi night. His scent floods your nose—salt and soil, blood and musk, something darker, wilder, something inhuman.

You whimper—too weak to fight—as his hand slaps possessively against the back of your thigh, holding you steady like a trophy kill.

"Shhh," he croons, his voice a low rumble vibrating straight through the very marrow of your bones. "Ain't no good wigglin', sweet pea. Y'belong t' me now."

Your fingers scrabble weakly against his shirt, nails catching on the coarse fabric, but he just laughs—a low, satisfied growl that rolls through the mist like thunder.

He starts walking—long, lazy strides deeper into the woods—further from the safety of town, further from anyone who could possibly hear you scream.

The trees lean in overhead, their gnarled branches clawing at the blood-colored sky, the cry of the cicadas like a chaotic choir, being taken deeper into the ugly underbelly of the forest.

The swamp breathes heavy and wet around you, the thick reek of stagnant water and moss closing over you like a suffocating shroud.

You can't see where he's taking you.

You can barely think.

Only feel—the slow, relentless sway of his body, the iron strength of his arms locking you in place as you look at the passing blur of gnarled foliage and plant litter every which way you twist your neck.

And his voice—

Low, filthy, almost tender—

Whispering promises against the slope of your thigh, each word branding itself into your skin.

"Gonna keep ya," he mutters, almost to himself. "Chain ya up nice 'n' sweet...keep ya all soft an' wet f'me...pretty lil' plaything, made jus' fer me."

You sob quietly, the sound muffled against his back, not that anything other than things that go bump in the night would hear anyways.

He doesn't stop.

Doesn't waver.

Just keeps carrying you deeper and deeper into the black heart of the woods, where no one will ever find you.

Where you’ll be his.

Body and soul.

Whether you want to be or not.

The world sways sickeningly with every step he takes.

Your body hangs limp over his shoulder, the thin fabric of your torn dress sticking to your skin, soaked through with sweat, blood, and the sticky breath of the Delta night. Every time he shifts you higher, the calloused drag of his palm across the backs of your thighs sends a tremor through your aching muscles.

The woods are different here.

Deeper.

Darker.

The trees older, skeletal and gnarled, twisted into shapes that look unnaturally human in the bloody moonlight, the knots in the bark large and gaping like mouths frozen mid-scream. The air thickens, heavy with the reek of standing water, mold, the cloying sweetness of rotting flowers.

You choke on it—each breath a struggle, sticky and wet in your throat.

He walks without hurry, the heavy tread of his boots sinking into the soft, muddy earth. The mist clings low around his legs, swallowing the ground whole. Crickets scream somewhere in the black, distant and frantic, but otherwise the world is eerily, horribly still.

You try to lift your head, try to see, but it only makes your vision tilt crazily, a low moan of sickness rising from your gut, feeling the bile trying to crawl up your esophagus.

He chuckles—low and knowing.

"Easy, lil' thing," he drawls, one broad hand stroking up the back of your thigh like a man soothing a spooked filly. "Ain't no sense gettin' y'self all riled."

His bloody fingers trail higher—under the torn remains of your petticoat, brushing the damp, sticky mess between your thighs. He hums, pleased.

"Still drippin'," he mutters almost to himself. "Still sweet."

The mist parts ahead like a curtain—and then you see it.

The chapel.

Or what's left of it.

A crumbling ruin of warped wood and sagging stone, half-swallowed by ivy and moss. The windows are shattered, jagged teeth of stained glass glinting in the blood moon's light. The steeple leans drunkenly to one side, bells long since stolen or fallen.

It should have been abandoned.

It was abandoned.

But now—

It breathes.

The mist coils around its dirty white skeleton, hugging it tight, the trees bending low like penitents around a grave.

He shoulders through the warped doors, boots echoing hollowly against the splintered floorboards. The air inside is thick—choking with mildew, smoke, old blood, the slow, sweet rot of something long dead, something long past salvation.

He carries you down the nave like a groom bearing a bride—if the groom were a wolf and the bride a carcass.

In the very center of the chapel, where once an altar might have stood, there’s only a low, crude bed—little more than a frame of old wood lashed together with vines and rope, a soiled mattress bowed low in the middle. Chains dangle from the bedposts, dark with rust, heavy enough to hold an ox.

Your heart stutters against your ribs.

He stops at the edge of the bed and lets you slide from his shoulder like a sack of grain, dropping you onto the mattress with a grunt. The springs wheeze under your weight. You scramble weakly, trying to push yourself up, but he just watches—arms folded, a slow, wicked grin playing at the corners of his bloody mouth.

"Look atcha," he says, voice dripping slow and fond. "All scared and pretty."

You whimper, trying to scoot back—away from him, away from the bed, away from the chains meant to shackle you to the floor. To him.

He lets you.

For a second.

Then he moves—faster than you can track—grabbing your ankle and yanking you back down the mattress with a savage jerk that knocks the breath from your lungs, chuckling low and mean under his breath, smiling like a predator playing with its food.

He looms over you—all broad shoulders and hungry red eyes, his chest heaving, his hair sweaty and sticking to his face. The crumbling roof of the chapel overhead caved in like a skylight created by time and erosion, the moonlight streaming in creating a bloody halo behind his head.

You kick out at him, weak and feeble. He catches your other ankle, spreads your legs wide with ease, and pins them to the bed.

"Y'know," he says thoughtfully, almost conversational, "I ain't never done this before."

You stare up at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving.

"Usually," he drawls, slow and deliberate, your blood dark and drying to his jaw, teeth sharp and daggered like the canines of a beast. "I catch my prey...an' I tear it open. Bleed it dry. Toss what's left t' the buzzards."

His hands slide up your calves, over your knees, rough palms mapping the shivering muscle of your thighs.

"But you..."

His grin widens, sharp and wicked.

"You got somethin' special in ya, sugar. Somethin' sweet. Somethin’ addictin’.”

His hands move higher, pushing the torn hem of your dress up around your hips.

"Gonna make a pet outta you," he murmurs, almost worshipful. "Gonna keep ya chained up nice and proper. Keep ya fed, keep ya warm...keep ya wet and loose."

You sob, twisting against the hold he has on your legs, but it only makes him chuckle low in his throat.

"Not just a meal, no sir," he says, voice thick with something like wonder. "Ain't never turned a meal inta a pet before."

He leans down, his mouth brushing your ear, his breath hot and damp and hungry.

"Gonna fuck ya every which way," he whispers, each word sinking into your flesh like thorns pricking your skin. "Gonna break ya in nice and slow. Make ya forget y'ever had a name b'fore me."

You shake your head, tears spilling over.

He just laughs—low and delighted—and kisses your temple, obscene in its mockery of tenderness.

"You'll see," he croons. "Ain't nothin' sweeter than bein' wanted, sweet pea. Nothin' sweeter than bein' kept and cared for.”

He shifts, reaching for the chains.

You hear the clatter of iron against wood, the heavy clink of rusted links.

Your blood goes cold.

You realize—

This isn't a nightmare you can wake from.

This is your life now.

Your body.

Your blood.

Your soul.

All belonging to him.

And the monster smiles.

The chains rattle in his fists, thick and rust-bitten, heavy enough to feel like fate.

You kick again, heart thundering in your chest, but it’s nothing against him.

He grabs your wrist with one hand, slamming it down against the splintered wood of the bed frame. The iron cuff closes around your wrist with a brutal finality, locking tight with a groaning snap of the old metal.

You cry out—a broken, pitiful sound that nothing but the cicadas will hear.

He shushes you—a low, almost tender croon—as he grabs your other arm, dragging it above your head and shackling it too.

The chains clink as you struggle, the cold bite of them against your bruised skin making you tremble harder.

"There we go," he murmurs, stepping back to admire his work, red eyes gleaming under the dripping shadows of the ruined chapel. "All trussed up like a good lil' prize hog."

You sob again, humiliated, terrified—but he only grins, predatory and bright, his chest rising and falling with heavy, panting breaths.

Slowly, leisurely, he kneels over you.

His hands trail down your body—dirty palms leaving streaks of blood, sweat, and swamp filth over the ruined silk of your dress. He hooks his fingers into the ripped neckline and tears—a wet, brutal sound of fabric giving way.

Your dress peels open like fruit skin, baring your chest to the swamp-choked air.

He makes a sound then—not quite a growl, not quite a groan—something broken and devout.

"Goddamn," he breathes, one palm spanning your ribs, feeling your heart rabbit helplessly beneath the thin shell of bone and skin. "Y'look sweeter 'n a sunrise after the flood."

His thumb brushes one nipple, watching it harden instantly under the humid chill.

You try to twist away—shame burning hotter than the blood in your veins—but the chains rattle uselessly, locking you in place.

He chuckles, low and dark.

"Ain't no hidin' from me, sugar," he says, rough and sweet, dragging his knuckles down your trembling belly. "Ain't no shame neither. Y'was made fer this. Made fer me."

His hands find the bunched remains of your petticoat around your hips.

Slowly—cruelly slow—he tears the rest away.

Until you're laid bare before him.

Blood-slick, shaking, eyes wide and wet.

He stares at you for a long moment—drinking in the sight of you like a starving man at a banquet that hasn't been permitted to feast yet.

You can feel the weight of his gaze—heavy and hungry.

"Mmm," he hums deep in his throat.

"Prettiest lil' pet I ever seen."

He palms your thighs, rough thumbs pressing bruises into the soft flesh as he pushes your legs open wider.

You sob—mortified, helpless—but it only seems to please him more.

"Lookit that," he murmurs, dipping his head down, close enough that his breath fans hot across your cunt. "Still bleedin'...still so damn sweet."

And then—

The flicker of heat—

The twin points of his forked tongue lash out, slick and obscene, stroking along the weeping seam of your cunt.

You gasp—body jolting violently against the chains—a sharp, helpless cry tearing from your throat.

He groans deep, low and guttural, as he licks again—slow, deliberate—tasting the blood and slick pooling between your thighs.

He moves with maddening patience—the split tips of his tongue teasing either side of your clit, circling, flicking, taunting.

"You hear that?" he mutters thickly, rubbing his mouth over your cunt, tongue dragging up every inch of you. "Hear how messy y'are f'me, sugar?"

You can't answer.

You're beyond answering.

Your thighs quiver against his shoulders, muscles locking and spasming as he devours you—slow, relentless, merciless.

He pulls back only long enough to watch you squirm—your face flushed, your lips trembling, your hips jerking up helplessly as if chasing the wicked flick of his tongue.

"Poor thing," he croons, mock-sweet. "Y'bleedin', cryin', achin'...and ya still openin' them pretty legs f'me."

He laughs—low and pleased—and dives back in, feasting like a man who'd been starved for a hundred years.

You can already feel yourself unraveling—

Can feel it building again—

That terrible, traitorous heat coiling low in your belly, shame burning so brightly it tastes like iron on your tongue.

He tongues you deeper, forked tongue writhing against your soaked, blood-slick entrance, and you sob, straining against the chains as your body gives in.

You come—

Harder than before—

Your cunt clenching helplessly around nothing, your blood and slick gushing against his mouth.

He groans, hips grinding into the bed, rutting against the mattress like he can't stand it, like the taste of you is killing him.

He pulls back, panting hard, mouth and chin dripping in a fresh coat of crimson.

When he looks at you—

It's not just hunger.

It's possession.

"That's it, baby," he rasps, voice raw, shredded with want. "Give it all t' me. Ain't gonna leave nothin' behind."

You whimper brokenly, chains rattling as you pull uselessly at your bonds.

And then—

You see it.

Him undoing his belt.

The clink of metal, the low rasp of fabric sliding down heavy thighs.

His cock springs free—thick, veined, flushed red—already weeping at the tip.

Your mouth goes dry with terror.

He crawls up the bed like a predator stalking wounded prey, his glowing eyes locked on you, his smile wide and merciless.

"Gonna claim ya proper now, sugar," he says, his voice low and trembling with barely-restrained hunger. "Gonna fuck ya bloody, fuck ya dumb...make ya forget the whole damn world 'cept me."

You sob, head thrashing weakly against the mattress.

He just laughs—low, light, loving—as he fits the head of his cock against your slick cunt.

And pushes in.

The first push of him inside you is a shock—

Stretching, burning, splitting you apart on the thick, heavy drag of his shaft.

You sob, twisting against the chains, but he just groans guttural and filthy, shoving deeper with a slow, brutal roll of his hips that forces your body to open up for him.

"There we go," he pants, sweat dripping from his brow to your heaving chest. "Takin' me real sweet, ain't ya, darlin'?"

The stretch feels endless, unbearable—every ridge and vein of him dragging against blood-slick, swollen flesh.

Your body tries to resist, clenching tight, but he's relentless—grinding deeper, forcing himself past the trembling, fluttering grip of your cunt.

"You fightin' me," he groans, voice ragged with pleasure, "but ya can't stop it, can ya? Body knows. Body knows who owns it now."

Tears spill from your eyes, hot and helpless.

The chains rattle with every shuddering breath you take.

He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his skin sweaty and warm same as yours, trapping you together in the sticky, blood-sweet air.

"Y'made fer this," he whispers, voice breaking on the edges of worship. "Made fer me."

With a slow, grinding thrust, he bottoms out—buried to the hilt, your body stretched taut around him, trembling with the effort to contain him.

He doesn't move at first.

Just breathes—hard, shuddering—his cock pulsing hot inside you, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you'll wear the bruises for days.

"Sweetest cunt I ever had," he murmurs, almost dazed, rolling his hips just enough to grind against the blood-slick walls of your cunt. "Sweetest thing I ever tasted."

You whimper, wrecked, overwhelmed.

He starts to move—slow at first, almost lazy, dragging his cock nearly all the way out before slamming back in with a wet, obscene slap of skin on skin.

The bedframe groans under the force of it. The chains rattle. The chapel breathes with the rhythm of it—an old, rotted cathedral witnessing your ruin.

He keeps his forehead pressed to yours, breath coming hot and ragged between clenched fangs.

"Fuck," he snarls, thrusting harder, grinding deep. "Ain't never...fuckin'...lettin' you go, sugar."

Each word is punctuated by a savage snap of his hips, driving you higher up the mattress, making the iron cuffs bite deeper into your bruised wrists.

Your world narrows to the brutal stretch of him inside you, the thick heat of his body pinning you down, the filthy grind of his cock dragging more slick, more blood from your battered cunt.

He groans again—a raw, broken sound—and pulls back to stare down at where your bodies meet.

Blood coats his cock, painting the base of it slick and glistening in the crimson moonlight.

He growls—a deep, vibrating sound—and slams in harder, hips jerking.

"Bleedin' all f'me," he mutters, awe bleeding into the filthy cadence of his voice. "Markin' me proper. Good lil' bitch, lettin' me ruin ya."

You sob—don't know if it's from the pain, the shame, the unbearable rush of something darker pooling low in your belly.

He leans in, dragging his split tongue up your throat—slow, languid—tasting the salt of your skin.

"Gonna fill ya up," he rasps, thrusting harder now, the rhythm getting ragged, desperate. "Breed ya good. Chain ya to this bed and fuck ya full every night till y'don't know nothin' but my cock."

Your hips jerk helplessly against him, legs trembling, blood and slick dripping down your thighs onto the ruined mattress.

He bites down suddenly—not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to bruise—right over the frantic pulse at your throat.

You keen—a high, broken noise—and the orgasm hits you like a lightning strike.

Your cunt clamps down around him, spasming violently, drawing a raw, broken snarl from his chest.

"That's it," he growls, fucking you through it, his cock thickening even more inside you. "That's it, dove, milk it. Milk it good."

You come undone—

Body locking, heart hammering, chains rattling—

As he drives you through wave after wave of brutal, bloody pleasure.

His rhythm falters—

Hitches—

And with a hoarse snarl, he slams deep one last time.

You feel it—

The hot, thick flood of him spilling inside you—

Coating your walls, mixing with the blood already slicking your thighs.

He stays buried deep—panting, shaking, his arms trembling where they cage you in.

For a long moment, the only sound in the chapel is the labored, broken gasps of breath—his and yours, tangled together in the hot, heavy dark.

He nuzzles into your throat, murmuring low, senseless things against your skin.

"My girl," he breathes, over and over, as if trying to convince himself. "My sweet girl."

You lie limp beneath him—wrecked, used, ruined—your body claimed in every way it can be claimed.

And somewhere—

Buried under the terror, the humiliation—

A dark, terrible heat begins to flicker in your chest.

You're his now.

There’s no going back.

And the monster—

The one you were warned about—

Whispers that maybe, just maybe—you don’t want to.

The world feels soft and hazy when he finally moves.

You’re barely aware of it—just a weak, blood-warm ache where your legs sprawl open, your wrists burning raw from the chains. Every nerve ending feels stretched thin, humming with the aftershocks of being wrecked and claimed and ruined.

He shifts over you—his cock sliding free with a wet, filthy sound that makes you flinch—and you feel the thick, sticky mess of blood and come seeping down your thighs.

You whimper weakly, body too used up to fight.

But instead of leaving you—instead of walking away like the monster you thought he was—

He stays.

He kneels between your ruined thighs, the broken mattress sagging beneath his weight, and for a moment he just looks at you—head cocked, hair wild and dripping sweat, red eyes burning.

Something like awe flickers across his face.

"Sweet lil' mess," he murmurs, voice thick, almost tender.

One large, calloused hand cups your knee—thumb stroking slow, idle circles into your bruised skin—as he leans in.

You feel the first press of his tongue before you can even gasp.

He drags that wicked, forked tongue up the inside of your thigh again, lapping at the blood and slick smeared there like it’s the finest ambrosia.

He groans deep in his chest, his hands tightening on your trembling legs to hold you wide open for him.

You sob—broken, humiliated—but he just keeps licking, slow and steady, cleaning you up like a beast grooming his mate.

"Can't waste none of it," he mutters between licks, his breath damp against your skin. "Every drop...mine."

You twitch beneath him, wrists jerking weakly against the chains, but there’s no strength left in you.

There’s no fight left at all.

He licks higher—over the tender, battered folds of your cunt—gathering the mixture of blood and seed with obscene thoroughness, his tongue darting deep, savoring every taste.

You shudder violently, a broken whimper escaping your throat.

He shushes you again—so softly, so lovingly it makes your heart twist.

"Easy, sweet pea," he croons against your skin. "Ain't hurtin' ya now. Jus' takin' what's mine."

His tongue splits and flicks, teasing your clit, making your hips jolt despite yourself.

"That's it," he murmurs, smiling against you. "That's my good girl."

When he’s satisfied—when every drop of blood, every smear of slick has been licked from your trembling body—

He pulls back, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand.

He looks down at you sprawled out on the soiled mattress—swollen wrists chained, thighs open, skin sticky with sweat and tears—and his smile softens.

"Pretty lil' thing," he murmurs, reaching out to thumb the tear tracks from your cheeks. "Took it so good. Knew ya would."

You try to flinch away from his touch, but it’s pathetic—a trembling, fragmented twitch.

He hums low in his throat, pleased.

Slowly, purposefully, he reaches for the shackles binding your wrists.

For a sick, dizzy second, you think he’s going to tighten them—punish you for even thinking of pulling away.

But instead—

You hear the click of old iron locks giving way.

The weight of the cuffs falls from your wrists, leaving raw, angry bands of flesh behind.

You sag back against the mattress like a puddle of liquid bones and flesh, too stunned, too hollowed out to move.

He watches you for a moment—head tilted, red eyes gleaming—like a man admiring the final brushstroke of a masterpiece.

Then he moves.

He scoops you up with terrifying ease—one hand under your knees, the other cradling your back—lifting you like you're weightless.

You make a weak, pitiful sound against his chest, but he just hushes you—soft and sweet—pressing a rough kiss to the crown of your filthy, sweat-drenched hair.

"Shhh, baby," he croons. "Ain't gonna hurtcha. Ain't gotta run no more."

He carries you to the far corner of the chapel—to a weathered old pew tucked into the shadows—and settles down onto it, shifting you into his lap like you belong there.

Your thighs straddle his hips, your chest crushed against his filthy shirt, your legs dangling uselessly on either side of his body.

He rocks you—nice and easy—the way a man might rock a newborn calf.

And all the while, he talks.

Low, sweet, steady.

"Got a place fer ya," he murmurs into your hair. "Back in the bayou. Little cabin where nobody'll never find ya."

His hands roam lazily over your battered body—soothing, petting, possessive.

"Got a bed there," he goes on, voice almost dreamy. "Big enough to tie ya spread-eagle. Big enough t' keep ya wet and ready all the time."

You shudder in his lap—a broken, helpless thing—but he just rocks you harder, nuzzling into your neck.

"Teach ya how t' live on nothin' but my cock and my seed," he whispers. "Keep ya full, keep ya heavy...make ya forget the whole damn world but me."

You sob softly against his chest.

He smiles against your hair.

"That's it," he croons. "That's my sweet girl."

His hand slides between your thighs again—unhurried, filthy—and cups the used, swollen heat of your cunt, thumb stroking lazy circles into the mess he left behind.

You twitch helplessly in his lap.

"Always knew I'd find somethin' special out here," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "Didn't reckon I'd find my forever meal...my lil' blood-slick pet."

He presses his mouth to your temple—a kiss, obscene in its tenderness.

"Mine now," he whispers. "Mine 'til the river runs dry."

The chapel groans around you—old wood settling, whispering, watching—as he rocks you slowly in his lap.

You’re weightless against him.

Soft.

Malleable.

The chains are gone, but you’re no freer than you were before.

Your body has surrendered.

Your mind—

God help you—isn't far behind.

He hums low under his breath, a tuneless, lazy thing—some old hymn twisted into something darker. Something damned.

His hands roam over you without hurry—stroking your bruised thighs, cupping the raw stretch of your hips, smoothing down the arch of your spine.

One of his palms cups the back of your head, pushing your face against his chest, holding you there like a possession too precious to lose.

"You feel it, don'tcha," he murmurs against your hair. "Way y'body melts into mine. Way y'cunt still pulses f'me even now."

You whimper—soft and splintered—and he smiles, wide and slow.

"Don't fight it, sugar," he says, low and coaxing. "Ain't nothin' left but me now."

You feel the slow, lazy roll of his hips beneath you—the thick, heavy press of his cock, still slick and blood-warm, nudging insistently between your thighs again.

You sob weakly, your body jerking against his.

But it’s useless.

Inevitable.

He shifts you higher, lining himself up, one broad hand guiding your hips as he pushes back inside—slow, deep, claiming.

You choke on a whimper, trembling violently in his lap as he fills you again—stretching your battered, blood-slick cunt to the limit.

"There we go," he croons. "There she is."

He rocks you on his cock—gradual, thick, obscene—grinding deep with each lazy roll of his hips, never pulling out, never letting you escape the feel of him inside you.

His mouth finds your ear, breath hot and heavy.

"Y'ain't even know my name yet," he murmurs, almost laughing. "Been takin' ya, ruinin' ya, bleedin' ya dry...and you don't even know what t' call me."

You shudder helplessly against him.

He presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw—filthy, tender.

"Remmick," he breathes.

"That's what ya call me, sugar."

Another slow grind of his hips—another thick, aching thrust deep inside your ruined cunt.

"Say it," he whispers, voice breaking sweet and sharp against your skin. "Say my name."

You sob—mind reeling, body burning—but the word tumbles out of you like a rejected prayer.

"Remmick."

He groans, raw and reverent, and rocks you harder, the weathered pew creaking beneath the slow, punishing grind of his body.

"Good girl," he pants, forehead pressing to yours. "Sweet lil' thing...mine now. Mine forever."

He kisses you then—

A brutal, clumsy thing—

Mouth crushed against yours, tasting of blood and salt and something older. Something primordial.

You sob into the kiss, legs trembling against his hips, your body clinging to him without thinking, without reason.

Remmick smiles against your mouth.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Ain't no runnin' now. Ain't no leavin'."

He rocks you again—slow, deep—every thrust branding you, sinking you deeper under his spell.

"You got my name now," he whispers, voice thick with triumph and devotion. "And soon enough, baby...you gonna carry the rest of me too."

His hand slides down, splaying wide over your lower belly—

Possessive, filthy, promising.

"You gonna carry me inside ya, sweet pea," he breathes, voice almost shaking. "Gonna grow fat an' heavy with me...my blood, my seed, my babies."

You sob against his chest—wrecked, overwhelmed—as he rocks you through it, slow and relentless, every movement carving your fate deeper into your body.

And Remmick—

The monster, the devil, the man—

Just holds you tighter, crooning low and filthy against your skin.

"My girl," he whispers. "My sweet, bleedin' girl."

The slow grind of him inside you never stops.

Remmick rocks you lazily in his lap—the pew creaking under the weight of his possession—each slow thrust pushing you deeper under, erasing everything but the burn and the stretch and the unbearable, filthy tenderness of him.

Your head lolls against his shoulder, sweat-soaked hair sticking to your temples, every nerve frayed to a live wire.

He strokes your back in long, rough sweeps—the calluses of his palms rasping over every bruise, every bite mark, every blood-smeared inch of you.

"You feel it, don'tcha, sugar," he breathes into your ear, voice sweet and sticky as syrup. "The way yer body listens to me now. Way it wants me even when you don't."

You sob weakly, too broken to deny it.

His arms tighten around you—one locked around your back, the other spreading wide over your hips, guiding you up and down the thick, blood-slick length of his cock.

"You was made fer this," he murmurs, his breath hot and humid against your skin. "Made t'be mine. Made t'be fucked full, bred fat, kept warm an' wet in my bed."

He rocks you harder—deeper—the swollen head of his cock grinding up against that raw, aching place inside you, making your whole body jolt and shudder helplessly.

Your wrists curl weakly against his chest, the instinct to cling overpowering even your fear.

Remmick hums low, satisfied.

"Good girl," he praises, voice rough and ragged. "Good lil' thing, clingin' so sweet."

He kisses the side of your throat—a slow, open-mouthed drag of lips and teeth—and you feel him smiling against your pulse.

And then his voice drops lower—softer, darker—as he begins to whisper.

"But if y'ever think about runnin'..." he murmurs, rocking you a little harder, his cock dragging thick and slow inside your cunt, "if y'ever try t'leave me, lil’ hare...I'll hunt ya down."

You shudder violently in his arms.

"I'll drag ya screamin' back by that sweet lil' ankle," he whispers, almost lovingly. "Chain ya tighter. Fuck ya harder. Make sure next time ya can't even walk."

You sob—broken, breathless.

He kisses your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your tears.

"Maybe I'll break that pretty lil' ankle," he muses, his voice so soft it’s almost a lullaby. "Keep ya bed-bound...keep ya needy...make ya beg for me t'feed ya, to fuck ya, to touch ya."

You whimper, hips jerking against him without meaning to.

Remmick groans low in his chest, thrusting up deeper inside you.

"You'd look so pretty like that," he pants. "All bruised up an' cryin'...beggin' me to keep fillin' this sweet lil' cunt."

His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit—swollen, aching, blood-slick—and starts to rub slow, relentless circles.

You gasp, high and needy, clutching at him, legs trembling where they sprawl weakly around his hips.

"That's it," he breathes, rocking you harder now, rubbing you faster. "Cum f'me, sugar. Milk me good. Show me who ya belong to."

You sob, mind fracturing under the thick, unbearable pleasure—under the dirty, endless tenderness of his voice—under the awful, overwhelming rightness of it.

Your orgasm slams into you—sharp, brutal, dizzying—your whole body clenching down around him, sobbing his name against his throat.

Remmick groans, burying his cock deep one last time, grinding slow and thick against the fluttering spasms of your cunt.

"That's my girl," he whispers, voice cracked and worshipful. "My sweet, bleedin' girl. Mine."

He holds you through it—rocking you gently, slowly—cooing filthy promises against your skin.

"Never lettin' ya go," he breathes, voice drunk with possession. "Never."

And you know—

With a dark, shattered certainty —

That he’s telling the truth.

Your body trembles in his lap—used, slick, overflowing—and still, Remmick doesn’t stop.

Still buried deep inside you, he rocks you lazily—thick, slow drags of his cock against your raw, battered walls, the wet, messy sound of it filling the ruined chapel.

You whimper, limp and broken against his chest.

He shushes you, petting your hair, pressing kisses to your temple, your jaw, your throat.

"That's it, sweet pea," he praises. "Just keep takin' it. Keep takin' me."

His hips move slower now—deep, grinding thrusts that make you feel every vein, every throb of him inside you.

You sob weakly when you feel the telltale pulse of his cock thickening again—feel the way he holds you tighter, groaning low in your ear.

"Poor thing," he breathes, voice shaking with hunger and something darker, deeper. "Ain't built t'keep up, are ya?"

He rocks you harder, the sticky, bloody mess of your body clinging wetly to him.

His mouth finds your ear again—voice low, filthy, almost laughing.

"Y'know why?" he whispers. "Y'know why ya break so easy f'me, sugar?"

You whimper, unable to answer, unable to think.

He licks the shell of your ear—slow, lazy—before speaking again.

"'Cause I ain't no man, sweet thing," he says, voice rich with wicked delight. "Ain't no mortal that tires out an' falls asleep after one fuck."

He grinds deeper—hips jerking, cock twitching inside you.

"A demon’s stamina," he murmurs, "ain't like a man's."

You shudder violently in his arms.

"I can do this," he breathes, voice low and full of terrible promise, "forever."

He thrusts again—slow, heavy, final—and you feel it.

Feel the thick, molten flood of him spilling inside you again—hotter, heavier than before, painting your ruined cunt, seeping out around his cock.

Remmick groans low, deep in his chest—a sound full of brutal satisfaction.

He holds you there—stuffed full, pinned tight—grinding the mess deeper with lazy, possessive rolls of his hips.

"There we go," he murmurs against your throat. "Fill ya up good. Mark ya so deep ya gonna leak me out fer days."

You sob, a broken little sound that only makes him hum in pleasure.

He strokes your hair, your back, rocking you gently in the wreckage of the chapel.

"You're mine now," he whispers. "Ain't no priest, no preacher, no god up there that can take ya from me."

He kisses your temple—filthy, loving.

"Belong t' me, sweet lil' thing," he breathes. "My pet. My meal. My mate."

You lie limp in his lap, broken open, owned.

And you realize—with a dark, awful clarity—that you don't even want to run anymore.

You belong here.

With him.

Forever.

And the monster—

The demon—

Your Remmick—

Rocks you slowly into the night, crooning sweet, filthy promises against your skin.

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